


Manna from Heaven

by zeesmuse



Series: Manna from Heaven [1]
Category: Robin Hood (BBC 2006)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-20
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2017-12-15 13:07:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 44
Words: 364,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/849909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeesmuse/pseuds/zeesmuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>NOW COMPLETE Be careful what you wish for, as the Angel of Death has a sense of humor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue. Love is...

Title: Manna from Heaven  
Author: Zee's Muse  
Fandom: Robin Hood BBC 2005  
Genre: FCHET  
Pairing: Guy of Gisborne/OFC  
Characters: Sir Guy of Gisborne, Vaisey; Sheriff of Nottingham, Robin Hood, Much, other canon characters, OFC  
Rating: NC17  
Disclaimer: I own nothing from the series. I don’t own any of the characters recognizable.  
Timeline: 12th Century England, Modern Day  
Setting: Season 3, after the arrival of Isabella and before the arrival of Prince John: modern day Atlanta, Georgia  
Warnings: SEX! Bondage, fuzzy handcuffs, long scarves, the usual stuff  
Spoilers: None. If it happened in the series, it happens here. The only thing AU would be the modern day stuff  
Beta: The wonderful and amazing Alex-Cat! Why do you put up with me?  
Summary: Be careful what you wish for. The Angel of Death has a sense of humor.  
Notes: Chapter Titles are derived from I Corinthians 13: 4-7.. (the Love Chapter) Chapter Footers are from Nickleback's "S-E-X"

 

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#  Manna from Heaven 

  
[ ](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/ZeeDippyVessel/media/Fic%20Artwork/09t87196d981a03253d0cff2cabdc7469a7_zpsf06aeeaf.jpg.html)   


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##  Be brave in the face of your enemies so God may love thee, speak the truth even if it leads to your death, protect the poor and weak always, This is your oath, and you are in this life so you may never forget that. Amen. 

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Manna from Heaven 

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Prologue 

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Love is… 

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~~~***~~~ 

_Two celestial beings wandered the pathways, bare feet on the grass. The pair would appear strange to the casual observer; one traditionally tall and slender, blonde, un-gendered, its long, white – feathered wings close in, its bearing one of serenity._

_The second however was short, rotund, definitely female, almost grandmotherly. She bounced, bobbed, smiled, pointed. Her wings were out, bumped into things, blue, matching her hair. She was not ‘angel-like’ at all. One hand was out, not touching the orbs that floated around them, coaxing them when she knocked them off balance, but managing somehow to caress the inner energy, making them sparkle, awaken, before she moved on, the small fireworks, the soul within returning to sleep._

_‘Anael! Must you disturb them?’_

_Anael, the Angel of Passionate Love stopped in her tracks, toes digging into the grass. ‘Haamiah! I am not disturbing them!’ She made a moue with her mouth. ‘I’m simply…’_

_‘Disturbing them.’ They continued to wander, occasionally stopping to look…_

_‘Tis getting crowded.’ Haamiah, the Angel of all that was Ethical perused the endless parade of orbs. ‘We should tend to this garden, send these waiting souls to Rashnu so he can prepare them for the Almighty for Judgment.’_

_Again, Anael silently grimaced. Rashnu was pompous, took his duty much too seriously, in her opinion. In addition, Anael disliked this particular duty with Haamiah, but it was her penance for her quick tongue so she decided to… to keep… it… from weeding the garden too severely. She looked over those in limbo; so many in need of second chances, a different outlook, things could have been different. One dark orb in particular caught her eye and with a deep sigh, she steered her companion in the opposite direction._

_For close to 800 years, she had protected that one, kept it - him - safe, out of harm’s way. Hidden and away from anyone’s eye. Under perfect circumstances, if they arose, she could and would personally approach Douma, the Thousand Eyed Angel of Death, to give this one a second chance; to undo what had been done. Sometimes, Douma acquiesced._

_Sometimes not._

_Usually not._

_But Anael had a good feeling about this one. If only… if only…_

_He just needed someone to love him back. Someone who could show him that power was not… was not…_

_If she could find the perfect woman... the perfect situation…the perfect instance…the perfect timing… the perfect..._

_The perfect something..._

_She sighed. Putting herself between Haamiah and the black orb, she effectively blocked the view of the austere and rather unforgiving angel and moved off away._

_Protecting the dark knight for yet another century._

 

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~~~…~~~ 

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‘S’ is for the Simple Need 

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~~~…~~~ 


	2. 01. ...Patient...

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Manna from Heaven 

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Chapter 01 

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Patient… 

_Atlanta, Georgia  
Autumn,  
present day_

Genevieve Robinson was burning the candles at both ends. 

She didn’t like it. Not a bit, but there was nothing to be done for it. Hopefully, within a week or two, many things would be settled, dealt with, taken care of. For not the first time, she checked her ‘to do’ list. Truthfully, it was the only way she could keep up. Looking at it for the umpteenth time that day, she knew… knew… the candle was going to be burning for a little while longer. At least, there was a light at the end of the tunnel. **__**

**_· Sale of architectural firm;_**

 

_Yeah, about the sale:_

This was her biggest problem. Genevieve was on the verge of becoming a very wealthy woman. 

Very. Wealthy. 

And the truth was, she hadn’t intended on becoming incredibly wealthy; she simply wanted to carve a niche for herself, make her grandmother proud. 

Buy her grandmother a new house. She had been living in that run-down shack, in fact, raised Genevieve in that run down shack, since time began. Grace Truth Robinson had been born and raised in that shack, married in the shack, birthed her one and only daughter in that shack; a daughter who after dropping a two-week old Genevieve on her mother, fathered by God-knows-who - ran off to be a groupie in a band Genevieve had never heard of and was never seen again. 

Grace did her best by the little girl; raising a much more conscientious granddaughter than daughter. The woman scrimped, saved, sold precious bottomland to put Genevieve through college when the girl’s silly building drawings in a high school drafting class earned her the distinction of being a rather gifted architect. College was a breeze, her hard-nosed attitude earning her accolades and many job offers from large, respectable firms. Learning the ropes from the partnership who she finally hired on with, she realized quickly she would never soar, never make it in the high male dominated echelon, would always be the low-woman on the totem pole. She would never be allowed to do more than design bits and pieces of projects and someone would always be looking over her shoulder. 

She kept quiet, tight-wadded her funds, roomed with too many roommates, in too cheap an apartment, learned everything she could by listening and watching. When Johnson called in sick, she went to the construction site with the plans, talked to the foreman, and realized that there were flaws in the design. Correcting the errors was no problem, and her boss quietly praised her for making sure the building didn’t fall before its time, but Johnson wasn’t questioned about it and all Genevieve got was that quiet pat on the head. She watched, silently in fury, when her ideas were attributed to others. At age thirty-one, as soon as she received her senior architect status, (meaning she was still only working on bits and bobs with much supervision and bringing coffee and doughnuts to meetings) struck out on her own, in a small office, with no air-conditioning, a crappy car, stacks of hidden ideas, along with one of the firm’s equally neglected Senior project managers and her leads. 

Oh, they laughed, those uptight, dickweed, douche bag men… until two weeks later, when little Genevieve Faith Robinson snatched a lucrative large contract from under their very noses with her very fresh and renovating ideas, open spaces and left them scratching their lily-white pansy asses. 

No one was laughing now.   
**_  
· Contract with Slayman, Raschberg, and Ficklebutte. George?_**

_And what the hell was with George? Where is the contract? The agreement? He’s had it for three weeks. He’s my attorney! He knows legal mumbo-jumbo is over my head! Give me a draft pencil, a graph program on a computer and I’m fine. Start adding legalese and I’m lost._

 

Three years later, she had an office in the upper reaches of the Equitable Building in downtown Atlanta – Five Points, thank you very much – a corner office, thank you very damn much, with windows from floor to ceiling all the way around, and a view of the Northwest Georgia Mountains where some very famous War of Northern Aggression Battles had raged, you may now kiss my shiny white Rebel ass! Can you testify and can I hear an ‘amen’!

Forty-eight employees! Not huge, not big, nothing grand, but young, hungry, The office bounced, for lack of a better term. They had a ‘reputation’ of taking on anything, everything. The place was the definition of ‘casual chaos’ with jean clad young executives lying on the floor and sometimes on the tables, sketching, drawing, tossing ideas. Her sales manager, Val Oelle, was now her office manager, her second, her everything. She ran everything, was her general, so Genevieve could be creative, work with her designers, clients, getting what they wanted set in stone. Genevieve couldn’t place an age on the woman and had never tried to. It would be rude. Her grandmother would have a complete and total cow if she even thought… **__**

**_· Call George. Again._ **

 

_I know what they’ve told me, but… I can’t put my finger on it. Something isn’t right. Ficklebutte is… oily. I want to make sure my employees stay employed…_

George, her crafty, irascible attorney was playing cat and mouse. Mostly mouse. His secretary was fielding phone calls; a cagier bitch that Genevieve didn’t like but what are you going to do? Val said the reason why woman pulled her hair up in such a tight bun, was because she trying to give herself a do-it-yourself facelift. 

Probably. 

_This deal is supposed to close in a week. Antsy. Just antsy. So much to go right… sooooo much more to go wrongwrongwrongwrongwrong…_

Genevieve’s gut was angry. She trusted her gut and if her gut was irritated, well… she needed to investigate. But she paid George to investigate... to translate… **__**

**_· · Gym  
· · Date. _ **

 

_Ah yes, blonde, blue-eyed, tight ass piece of gentile southern blue-blood royalty, Mr. Lamar Franklin Robencourt. Bounce a quarter off that ass…_

Genevieve grinned at that, before her grin dropped. 

_If he’d ever loosen up. And if he’d ever get out of the clutches of his gator of a mother._

As soon as her second contract was signed, sealed and delivered, a panic attack landed her in the emergency room and the doc convinced her she was ‘stressed-out’ and needed a ‘stress-reliever’. His suggestion was the gym, three times a week. 

Honestly, it was the best thing anyone suggested. Unbeknownst to the common man, the high-rise office complex sported a rather nice gym for the occupants. She made use of it religiously, rubbing elbows with some rather appreciative gentlemen trying to keep from having their second and third strokes. 

In fact, it was the gym where she met Mr. Lamar Franklin Robencourt, newest partner of Grant, Robencourt, Robencourt, and Grant. He was the one who suggest George as her attorney and then promptly swept her off her feet. He introduced her to Atlanta Society, the social whirl. Genevieve found herself adding Red Cross balls and United Way fundraisers to her calendar. The Atlanta Symphony, the Opera, Fox Theater. He took her golfing at the Atlanta Athletic Club, rubbing elbows with Falcons and Hawks and Georgia Tech and Bulldog alumnae and old Southern money. Her credit card took a hit those first months. His mother – the Gator – informed her rather peevishly at her first outing, that she was dressed as if she came from Kentucky -

_Huh hello bitch? I AM from Kentucky!_

\- and informed her quite snidely, that if she was going to date her son, she would not dress like a common strumpet! 

_Huh?_

She was of the impression that Phipps Plaza was for plebeians – PLEBEIANS! for pity’s sake, Genevieve had to look it up! – and they spent the following weekend in every couture shop in Atlanta. She had never shopped so much in her life! 

At some point, Genevieve decided her next project was a new closet! 

She had a nice condo up 400 off Ashford – Dunwoody. Not her perfect plan, but a nice start. At least, it was an upscale neighborhood. Eventually, she wanted in mid-town, but perhaps, after the sale… 

Her mind returned to that. How Slayman, Raschberg, and Ficklebutte found out about her was beyond her imagination. They approached her out of the blue a month before, wanting to purchase her little firm, expand it, make it larger. ‘Take stock’, they said, ‘infuse it with fundage, etc…’ and promptly handed her a contract that made Bilbo Baggin’s contract with the Dwarves in that Hobbit movie look like chump change. She immediately contacted George, who took it and disappeared, ne’er to be seen again. 

Lamar brushed it off. 

As of late, Lamar was brushing a lot of things off. Genevieve invested a lot into this relationship, not including the clothes. She scratched absently at her Norrel Implant site. He didn’t ‘trust’ the pill. No. He wanted that implant, knowing she was allergic at the skin. And time. Time away from her company, when he wanted to fly to New York or Miami or Chicago, where his firm had offices. He had a bad habit of just calling her and giving her a few hours notice at best. At first, she went, because he asked, only to discover that he only expected her to look pretty on his arm for this or that. Most of the time, she was abandoned in his hotel room. Thankful for her laptop, her iPad and her sketchpad, she was able to stay in touch with her own company, but she needed to be there, not skyping conferences. Several times, she had been unable to drop everything without notice. She had clients, contacts, already scheduled meetings and as of late, Lamar was not understanding of that or very gracious about it. In fact, the last time this happened – two weeks ago – he told her flat out she simply needed to keep a bag packed in the trunk of her car. As if! It was affecting a lot of things. 

Like their sex life. It was suffering. It had been a long time since he initiated sex with her and when he did, it was routine, bland. Boring. 

Vanilla. 

Absentmindedly, she toyed with her necklace, her silver cross. It belonged to her great-grandmother, a saint according to her grandmother. It was the only thing of value her grandmother had and she put it on Genevieve’s neck the day she moved to Atlanta. 

_Don’t forget who you are, who made you, who gave you your gifts. Don’t let any man make you think less of yourself or undesirable. You find a strong man, who will cherish you, one who will lift you up, support your ideas, keep you strong._

Truth be told, Lamar wasn’t making her feel very desirable at all right now, much less cherished. She felt like a thing, an object. The last time they made love, he might as well have had a blow up doll. It was the fastest mount, dismount, _was it good for you baby,_ out like a light and fast asleep she had ever experienced. Shit. He was faster than her first lover, who had been a virgin as well and barely managed to get the condom on in time! At least, that had improved over time, but this one… 

It wasn’t. 

But they had a date tonight. She was catering in French, had just picked up scented candles, shopping at Victoria Secrets – black garters, the whole 9 yards and some naughty toys from a little sex shop a few blocks down. And the crowning touch, special order, a little black nothing sequin dress, with the silk stockings with lace tops, and black pumps with four inch whore heels that she recalled turned him into a stallion when he saw them in her catalogue in her mail on the table two months back. Along with the black silk robe and **__**

**_· Adult Toys!!!!_ **

 

\- fuzzy handcuffs and butterfly vibe. And lube. Lamar wasn’t getting her gears juiced well as of late. The last two times had been mildly abrasive and painful. Maybe a nice massage… 

The bags were under her desk; there was room in her gym bag. **__**

**_· Back up plan with contract_ **

 

Never go without a back up plan. Rule number One. Always have a ‘B’ plan and a ‘C’ plan as well. Pressing a button on the intercom, she pegged Val in her office. “Look, George hasn’t gotten back with me with the contract and I’m getting antsy.” Sitting on her desk, she absent-mindedly rubbed her hands down the legs of her jeans, her rhinestone ballet flat dangling from the edge of her toe. 

“Would you like me to pull the original from our files?” 

“We have the original???” 

“George didn’t get the original. I made sure of that!” She heard paper shuffling. “What kind of office manager do you think I am? Originals always stay here. Right where they belong!” 

“PLEASE!!!” The shoe dropped, falling upside-down on the floor. 

“Be warned,” Val’s voice was jovial. “The print I believe is a 6 point and your eyes will water.” 

Genevieve rubbed her temples before sliding from her desk to retrieve the errant footwear, her toe flipping it over. “Any possibility of enlarging it?” 

“Tried already. It blurs.” 

Genevieve dropped her head. “Guess I’ll be hand-transcribing.” 

“It would seem so, dear. So sorry.” 

She picked up her to do list and added to it. **__**

**_· Several notebooks to gym bag and pens. And pencils! Magnifying ruler. For Sunday._ **

 

Lamar did church with his mother on Sunday. A large Presbyterian church on Peachtree Street. It was too formal for Genevieve, who was raised in a small, backwoods, century old Southern Baptist clapboard with a bell in the steeple. The congregation got righteous, unlike the very formal Presbyterians. She went on occasion, to placate Mother Gator. Again, she fidgeted with her grandmother’s necklace. As of late, she was hungry… but hungry for what? 

Finally, the clock buzzed 5 PM. It was Friday. Off to the gym, shower and change and head home. With luck, she would beat the caterer by 8 PM and then it would be the weekend with Lamar and hopefully, prayerfully, they would get their relationship back on track. Maybe when this infernal sale was over, she could concentrate on him, his needs… and maybe she would become Mrs. Lamar Franklin Robencourt within the end of the year. 

Oh. **__**

**_· Buy grandma a new home._ **

 

****

~~~…~~~ 

Great! She was now running late – her phone was missing and she couldn’t stand the thought that it was lost. Maybe it was in the car. Genevieve prayed that traffic wasn’t horrible. It was summer, many were on vacation, there wasn’t a home Braves games this weekend. No concerts planned, nothing at Piedmont Park. It should be quiet. She was dressed, so all she had to do was let the caterer in and not worry about makeup. Slinging the gym bag in the back seat of her BMW, she opened the front door, to see her phone peeking up between the seat and the gearshift. Hurling herself in, she sighed a sigh of relief, plugged the phone into the car’s bluetooth sound system and started the car. Navigating the circular exit was nerve racking and her greatest fear was leaving an additional scrape or rubber bumper mark on the concrete walls. She paid her fare, wished Acheem a great weekend and edged to the road.

_Busy. Backed up! Shit._

Just what she did not need. At all. Momentarily stalled, she put on the headset and checked her messages. 

_Hello Genevieve. You have three new messages and one saved message…_

That saved message was the first call she had gotten from Lamar after that first date. It made her tingle, much like her first love had. She checked the mirror, made sure everything was in place. When she needed a pick-me-up, a smile, she listened to it. He sounded so sure of himself, so confidante. 

_First New Message: beeep. Miss Robinson? This is Madelynne at La cuisine française. We are confirming your service, if you would call us to verify…_

She missed it. In recent weeks, he’d become irritable, unresponsive, completely out of tune with her and her needs. He expected her to jump to his whims, but wasn’t in her corner when she needed him. She really needed him now. 

La Cuisine had been called that morning. Delivery was set at 7:30 unless she called to rearrange. If she could get onto the side street, she’d make it. Delete. 

_Second new message: beeep. Ms. Robinson, this is Adele Grafford, George Stallop’s secretary._

_Yeah, I know who you are. You’re playing subterfuge with my attorney and it’s pissing me off._

_My apologies however, I was instructed to inform you that Mr. Stallop’s wife passed away this morning…_

_What?_

The woman continued as if dictating a will. 

_Obviously, Mr. Stallop will not be in the office for several weeks, taking care of the estate. As you know this is a small firm and the only other partner is Mr. Tallnic, however his area of expertise is estate planning…_

_SHIT! Shitshitshitshitshit! AH George! Why didn’t you tell me?_

George had mentioned his wife was ill, but Genevieve didn’t realize she was critical… much less… dying. Oh shit. Poor George. Genevieve met her once, nice dowdy lady she liked better than the Gator. 

There was a break in the traffic, a slow to move Fiat and quickly, Genevieve bolted into traffic, causing the little beat up Fiat she cut in front of to screech and beep his pathetic little horn. 

She felt sorry for the little Fiat. Several years ago, that little beat up car had been her. The light ahead was red and she beat her head against the steering wheel. She considered calling the caterer and pushing the meal back to 8:30.

_No, that would be too late and Lamar hated eating late._

_I’ve taken the liberty to email you the contract, so you can hire another attorney._

_Another attorney? At this late date? Oh geeez…. Wait. I’ll ask Lamar. Perhaps someone in his firm…_

_You should find it in your inbox. I am terribly sorry, however…_

_Yeah yeah yeah. Save it and stow it. I’ve ticked off The Almighty already._ Still at a dead stand still, she unzipped her gymbag, pulled out her iPad. Scrolling through the sets and making sure she had a signal, she picked up her email and downloaded the contract. Maybe she could enlarge the font there. 

This was bad. Her long planned weekend of romance and naked butt games was quickly being turned into a short night romp, which she did NOT want.

How much more could her life get screwed up?

The traffic began to move. Before hitting the gas, she turned back to her third message.

_Third new message: beeeep. Uhm… hi… Genevieve…_

_Hellooooo my sexy man!_

_It’s Lamar. Look, I’m going to have to cancel our date tonight… this weekend. I... I had something…_

_What?_

_…something has come up… yes Mother, I’m speaking to her now. No, I do not… look, Genevieve, I’m sorry, but we’re not working out. I need someone more … well… and you’re busy and we’re moving in different … yes Mother, can you just please… right now just isn’t our time. It’s not you, it’s me. We move in different circles. You’ve got a lot going on and we just have different things going on and it’s unfair to both of us. Maybe … I’m sorry, this is just hard… I’m sorry. I… have tickets for us for the Red Cross Ball in a few weeks, but I don’t think it would be in… your best interests to go with me, I’ll find someone… else…I’m sorry. Good luck with your new business venture. I know you’ll do well. Bye._

Click

So stunned at the message coming through her speakers, Genevieve didn’t realize the light turned red and she pulled directly into the path of an accelerating car.

****

~~~…~~~ 

_Come on, honey, come on honey, stay with me…please beautiful… you’ve got a hot date tonight, I can see it. Stay with me… please… please… we’re losing her… damn, I need an IV, hand me the fib…stay with me stay with me stay with me stay with…_

****

~~~…~~~ 

Anael was always mesmerized when new limbo souls arose into the Garden. It was fascinating that few souls were ‘in limbo’ – most died and went on to Rashnu – Peter was really busy most of the time – and on to Judgment. But on occasion, souls that were snatched too soon or had unfinished business to tend to, were sent to this quiet, if ever burgeoning garden. To be discussed and await a time and place, but mostly a decision. To aid and regroup, or to just… let it be and allowed to pass.

So when this new orb materialized, Anael watched closely. Unlike most souls, it become visible on the footstool of Douma’s seat, making it important – a life or death situation. It pulsated, the lifeforce within still strong and beating. As was her way, the angel opened her wings and with her hands, caressed the aura that surrounded it.

‘Oh, you poor thing. Such heartache.’

‘Yes. Such heartache.’ Anael jumped, almost falling into Douma. Even after how many millennia, looking into the Angel of Death’s constantly color- changing eyes made the smaller angel blink rapidly. The Angel’s black wings opened fully, encompassing not only the two angels, but the orb as well. With infinite gentleness and grace, the Angel of Death reached out her hand, but did not touch, simply felt the ebb of the life force within. ‘And sadly, we must make amends and amends quickly. Too much lies in flux.’

‘I do not understand.’

‘’Ah, this is Genevieve. A decision must be made now. So much potential, cut short. It is sad, but it happens. However, forty-eight lives and those lives families are unstable and without her steady hand and the truth of what will become of her company, too much will be lost.’

‘The Almighty would have plans for that, he always does,’ Haamiah materialized from nowhere, curious as to why Douma and Anael would be whispering over a new orb.

‘You like to play Devil’s Advocate,’ Douma answered drolly, not looking at the very serious angel. Sensing what was needed, the Angel tucked her black wings down, her finger directing in the air. ‘It is not the Almighty’s plan that this one pass. She is to live. But there are extenuating circumstances. This tragedy can be circumvented. She is not dead, not at all, although she lays on my footstool for my decision. She is gravely injured and will need many weeks of recovery. Some things will not wait. However…’ the angel motioned to Anael, ‘bring her this way, I have an idea.’ Levitating the sphere, the three wandered down the various paths of orbs, all of them reacting to the new life. ‘She needs time to go over things, investigate things that lay within her grasp. She has been preoccupied as of late-’

‘With a douche bag!’

Haamiah gasped, not seeing the small smirk on Douma’s features. ‘I do not think the Almighty-’

‘He will forgive me,’ Anael hissed under her breath. ‘I will be assigned another millennia of this duty with you.’

Douma now smiled, her eyes changing colors yet again. ‘Two, to be exact, but I believe Hammiah’s penance will be discharged long before then.’ They made a turn and Anael realized her precious dark knight lie in this direction. Quickly she attempted to sway the other two in a different direction, which worked in the past, however this particular time, it did not. ‘Our little Genevieve needs a quiet place, one without the hustle and bustle of business and her… douche bag…’ Haamiah gasped again, the Angel of Death focusing on her. ‘Now I have penance, in order to study and clear her mind of petty annoyances. She needs to concentrate on her business venture and the outcomes, which sadly are not what they appear to be. Investigation of the written word will expose evil’s true intent. She needs to be able to bring it forth and she will not be able to if she dies. So, she does not die.’ Slowly they made their way closer to the darkened orb. Anael attempted to move between the Angel of Death and the row of spheres, but Douma was having none of it. ‘Nor will they wish to give her much time once she recovers, forcing her to spend precious energy on things yet again that should not be her priorities. She needs to have much already at her fingertips and she must be ruthless. Rather than return her, have her heal, and then have her rushed to make a decision that could prove to be… unwise… I say we allow her body to heal in its time, in a coma, vegetative state, but send her essence, her mind, to a quiet haven to inspect and investigate the items she has and therefore when she awakens in some weeks, she will know what she has in her belongings. She can make a decision, possibly have a plan in place.’

Anael was getting antsy. Gently to her side, she waved her hand, the dark orb lowering, almost cowering beneath other brightly hued globes, now unseen. She breathed a sigh of relief.

‘Send her spirit?’ Haamiah was puzzled. ‘There are many quiet places here.’

‘Haamiah, your penance is up. Gabriel is looking for you.’ In moments, the angel had risen and was gone. ‘And now,’ Douma smiled gently down on Anael, ‘we can talk.’ It was not lost on Anael that they stood in front of where the dark knight hovered hidden. Despite her attempted subterfuge, Douma waved over the grouping, separating the orbs and raising the mysterious one to the top. ‘You have watched over this one for many years. Centuries.’ Anael swallowed hard, nodding. Douma took in the angel’s sadness and reluctance. Truth was, the Angel of Death was fond of this angel, had begged the Almighty to allow her to stay in this quiet place because she brought life to such a quiet and sometimes dismal corner. Death was not a happy place and Douma needed some joy or such to stay grounded and a reason to smile. ‘I do not propose we keep Genevieve here at a table. Rather I would send her somewhere not so… busy on earth.’ 

‘But where… Antarctica?’ 

Douma laughed. It was not a sound heard often and it tinkled like a bell. ‘No. I do not wish to freeze her, I wish for her actual body to heal. But she needs to be alive and breathing and be able to yell and talk and reason out loud.’ With this, the Angel’s hand reached out and caressed the aura of the dark one. 

It pulsated, sprang, lurching to life painfully, shards of ebony, gold, purple sparks igniting within, the heartbeat becoming audible. He struggled against his confines, throbbing, as if fighting himself, yearning for the caress of death. ‘I have shown favor, allowing you to keep this one.’

‘I know.’ 

‘He… had much potential.’

‘He had too many mountains. Too many bad influences.’ Then she whispered. ‘Too much against him.’

‘As I recall, you threw his sister’s orb at Saint Peter.’ Anael blushed. It was true. She did not understand why that one was even in limbo and in a rare fury of anger, lobbed the orb towards Judgment, nearly beaning the auspicious Saint. It was the reason, in fact why Rashnu played Gatekeeper anymore. He ducked better.

Anael continued, ‘Still, he did not have enough positive ones. It was a horrible time to live!’

‘We sent him Marian.’

‘She did not love him!’ Anael was shaking in fury. ‘She was flawed!’

‘They are all flawed, Anael.’

The little angel continued, unhearing. ‘She frustrated him, baited him. She loved another and deep down, he knew it. And yet, he forever hoped and hoped and hoped.’

‘It was his saving grace. Hope.’ It was quiet for a moment. ‘We sent him Meg.’

Anael snapped. ‘Bah! Meg hated men and he never found the compassion he needed to curry her favor. They had not nearly long enough.’ The little blue-haired angel looked up, tears in her eyes. ‘She cared nothing for him! He still lost his head and he still died loving Marian. Yet, he died honorably. Resigned to his fate.’

‘Yes. He did. Which is why he is here.’ Again Douma caressed the aura, watching the glass-like sphere jump, straining against its confines. ‘Your care has kept him strong. My penance is to grant him this chance. Yes, he died an honorable death, but he still had not learned or accepted what he needed to move on. Marian was not his, never was and yet, he still clung to her. He found his compassion and humanity too late. Your passion is your gift, your love of it, and your desire is that all should have it and experience it. This one,’ she pointed at the orb, making it bounce painfully to the point that Anael wished to reach out and pull it protectively to herself, ‘desired power, unknowing what true power is and never being able to utilize the gifts he did have because he was not taught.’ She was quiet for a moment. ‘He never realized what he really wanted was to be loved.’

‘Therefore,’ Genevieve’s orb rose in the air, higher, the orb mutating, beginning to take shape; the shape of a young woman, with long hair the color of honey. ‘We will send her to him, give her to his time. There will not be as much activity for her to be involved with, so she will have time to do what she needs to do, while her true body heals.’ 

‘If you give her to him, give him her, really her. Not something fake.’ Anael was watching with rapture. ‘She is a brunette.’ She broke her gaze from Genevieve’s body. ‘He prefers brunettes!’

Douma smiled. ‘This is true.’ Genevieve’s hair shortened and turned to her natural color of rich farm soil. 

‘The timing must be perfect.’

‘Aye. The best time would be after Marian’s death.’

‘He was a basket case after Marian’s death!’

‘Aye, until Robin refused to kill him.’ Douma tapped her lip thoughtfully. ‘After he returned from John, when he began to break away from Vaisey. Reassert himself. He will be ripe. A few weeks, I can give them no more.’ Douma noticed the shock on Anael’s face. ‘Yes. After Marian, but before Meg, before John arrived in Nottingham. When he hurt most, was deepest in his hell. He must befriend Meg! And while he wrestles with his inner demons, Genevieve’s ability to take apart puzzles and rebuild them – and that is her gift – will aid him on the final leg of his journey, to true freedom.’ The two angels watched as the woman rose in the air. ‘She is hurting as well. Hopefully, she will reach out to him and as a result, succeed where Marian failed.’ Douma was smiling at her handiwork. So very, very rarely did she restore, renew life, always charged with taking it. ‘Pray she helps him find his humanity, accept what is, and aid him in forgiving himself for his shortcomings.’ Genevieve’s body was now fully realized, hanging in the upper air of the chamber. Slowly, greenery bloomed in the heavens, a divine forest bursting forth. Genevieve lifted into the leaves and disappeared.

At the same time, the dark one began his own journey, rising into the air, elongating, taking shape. The heavens themselves gasped, one that ruffled the hair of the two angels. Too long this one had been confined, bottled and his anger and pain rippled through the air. Ice blue eyes jerked opened, a painful breath inhaled.

‘Oh, he is beautiful!’ Douma stepped back. ‘I see why you were so enamored with this one.’

‘I am not enamored.’ Anael’s eyes however shown with joy and hope. ‘I know who he is.’ Finally, the dark knight rested full in the atmosphere and Anael’s hand reached to caress the jaw. ‘Ah, my lover’s hair is like the raven-’

Again Douma laughed. ‘I do not think Solomon had him in mind when he wrote that!’

‘No.’ Anael’s face fell. ‘They will have no time, no time for each other, will they?’

Douma realized this conversation would happen and it was not one she relished. Anael was the Angel of Passionate Love and her desire was that all beings would find the one that would set them alight. Obviously, she harbored such thoughts for these two. ‘To explore fully? No. Not in his time. She will not change his destiny there. He will still die and he will still die for a cause. Question is; how will he die and what cause will he die for?’

‘But-’

‘Nor does she belong in his.’ 

She watched as the little angel’s countenance saddened. ‘So unfair,’ Anael whispered. ‘She will be so very vulnerable.’

‘So will he,’ Douma finished for her. ‘Much more vulnerable that even he would like to think. That vulnerability will save them both. But, there is hope and there are ways. They both have enough hope to fuel the stars. It should be interesting to see what they can accomplish in a few weeks.’ They watched the dark knight’s visage fade, leaving a strange emptiness. She dipped her head to look directly at Anael, mischief churning churning churning in those ever changing eyes. ‘We have worked hard this day and these two have work to do. I am in the mood to feast somewhere quiet and listen to David play his harp.’ She took her by the hand, her touch not deadly as to man. ‘I hear rumor that J. S. Bach has taken him to task and he is now being pouty.’ Yet another grin widened the features, causing the angel to become more beautiful. Her eyes spun jewels like a kaleidoscope, stars and glitter racing through the depths. ‘And he is breaking strings. We will check on these two later and makes plans for them, something perhaps more to your liking.’

****

~~~…~~~ 

_Nottingham, England  
Autumn  
The Year of our Lord 1196_

Sir Guy of Gisborne hated Mass. 

Really. 

In his esteemed opinion, he did not understand why one went to Mass, much less Confession. Truth be told, he no longer attended Confession. The Sheriff did, did it mostly to shock the priest, but Guy’s beliefs were becoming jaded, had been jaded for a long, long time. He wondered what the fuss was about. 

A land of milk and honey and music. No work. All play. He could see why the peasants would be enamored of such an afterlife. Someone else would wait on them, for a change. In the back of Guy’s warped mind, he believed that if Heaven existed, more than likely, the servants of paradise waiting on the peasants would be those here who ruled and held power here. Men like himself and the Sheriff. And Prince John. That would be true Hell. 

But sometimes one must appease the people and on those rare occasions, Guy would find himself on the odd Sunday, leaning on the back post of the pillar of the Church, yawning in boredom and usually, a hangover, while the priest droned on in Latin and then explained to the unwashed masses in the pews what he said.

Today he spoke of ‘Manna from Heaven.’ 

Bread. Flung from the heavens. What rot. 

If the Almighty is going to throw things from the sky, he should fling something useful. Like a rock. To hit Sheriff Vaisey. Hard! Or Robin. Or Isabella, the bitch. Or… 

Or a real woman. Guy smirked at that, no one seeing as they were mounted behind him. The road was shady, few were speaking and they were whispering, so it was quiet, which is how Guy liked it best. 

Aye. A woman thrown from the sky. That would make him change his mind about God. _Oh God, send me a beautiful woman with hair and legs and curves and…_

There was a crack above them and suddenly Guy’s horse startled, stepping backwards and nickering in fear. What little whispering behind him came to a halt as they all looked up to see if the skies had been misread and a storm approached. There was movement above them as something…

… fell from the sky. 

It raced through the boughs, sprinkling bark and smaller branches about him and the front line of his men. Something was tumbling through the branches, bouncing from side to side, the speed barely diminishing. For a moment, it hung up on one of the larger branches, slowly tipping before falling again. It grew louder as it descended and his stallion backed up without warning. 

It fell at their feet, dust from the path, kicked up, leaving a small shower of spattering dirt. 

Something, not small. Well, a small boulder, perhaps. 

Someone was launching boulders? In the woods? Who launched a trebuchet in the woods? 

Guy drew his sword, hearing the others draw theirs as well and waited, looking, waiting for an assault. When it did not come, he nodded to his right, Joffrey gingerly dismounting. “Check it.”

Joffrey approached the object, lying still on the ground in front of the horses’ hooves. He kicked it with his foot, waiting for it to move, before kneeling down. Cautiously, he knelt, touching it. He prodded, poked…

“Well?” Guy’s voice was droll. “Do not keep me waiting.”

“It appears to be a satchel of sorts, Sir Guy.”

Guy feigned boredom. It was a skill he had honed for many years. He could think, ruminate, while pretending to not do so. He focused on his gloves, adjusting them. “It appears to be?” He looked up, one eyebrow cocked. “Are you sure?” 

Joffrey began to fumble, turn it. “The fastenings are strange. I’ve not seen the like.” He was now twisting it this way and that. “There are handles and something that looks like… well...”

“Yes?”

“It looks like teeth. Teeth made of silver.”

Silver? 

Looking up again to ensure nothing else was being catapulted, Guy then dismounted, handing the reins to the man behind him. He strode over to Joffrey, toeing him out of the way. If there were riches here, he did not wish anyone to know or see. The last thing he needed was the sheriff to get word or anyone else, truth be told, that riches were falling from the sky…

Like manna.

He stooped down, seeing, yes, the cloth bag was held together by tightly clenched silver teeth. It was larger than a rucksack, changed shape as he touched, moved it, manipulated it, as if the contents inside were not tightly packed. Setting his sword to the side, but still within reach, he pulled the handles apart, he saw a lever and grasping it, began to pull slowly in the opposite direction. It did what he suspected, a small opening becoming visible. 

Suddenly, he did not wish to peruse the contents here. He decided to return it to the privacy of his room in Locksley. If there was something… anything…

There was another crack, this one bigger, heavier, louder, moving faster. He heard the men cry out and Joffrey jumped on his back, pinning him to the ground as if his meager form could protect him from whatever was being thrown at him. More branches, bark, leaves rained from the heavens before a profound weight dropped on the two men. 

Guy was aware of many feet hitting the ground, running towards them. The burden was staggering, but after a moment, he managed to shrug Joffrey and the additional mess from him. “GET! OFF!” With a fury, he jumped up, grabbing his sword. 

There was yet another bundle, more like a rolled carpet, laying discarded to the side of Joffrey. Grabbing the end, he yanked, forcing it to roll open. 

His eyebrow rose. 

“My Lord!” 

“Sir Guy!” 

He smiled.

“It’s a… it’s a… it’s a…” 

_Yes indeed. It was a-_

“A woman!”

“She is not dressed properly!” Joffrey sounded almost offended and began to yank at her too short dress, which didn’t appear to have enough material to cover her body, much less her legs. “I see her legs!” Realizing covering her with her clothing was a lost cause, he began to throw the covering over her legs.

Oh yes. Very nice legs. For the first time in too long, Guy… twitched. 

“Stop.”

All movement came to a halt. Guy stood over her, looking down, looking at her. Her eyes were closed, lashes dusting sun-kissed cheeks. “We shall take her back to Locksley.” He bent over making sure the case was closed, but left it in the dirt. He mounted his horse, making sure to press far back in the saddle. “Hand her up to me.” It took several minutes and two men to get the woman situated in Guy’s lap. She fit in his arms, one leg slung over his, the other propped on the saddle horn, showing a very nice length of thigh and black lace. He pointed with his chin to the bag still lying on the earth. “Joffrey, I suspect that is her… luggage. Retrieve it but do not look into it.” Joffrey shrugged before making a face and doing as Guy bid. "Speak not of how she came. We found her in such state on the path. Obviously, Robin Hood robbed her and left her for dead." He turned in his saddle to look at his men. "You will not like it if I hear otherwise." He took the long cloak and covered her more thoroughly. Once all were mounted, they began again, slower this time, as so not to disturb the extra burden in Guy’s arms. He appeared to ignore her, to not look closely as he planned to do that once he had her in a bed at his home and he could do so at his leisure without prying eyes. 

Or so it seemed. Truth be, he did watch her, under hooded eyes, beneath the lashes his sister swore he stole from her. 

But he made more show of watching Joffrey with the bag. As he should and as it was expected. But still, Guy of Gisborne was very aware of a delightful bundle of flesh in his arms, the warm and heavy weight pleasing. 

Now. What was he thinking about before this happened? Ah yes. Manna. Manna from Heaven. Questioning the very existence of God.

_Well, obviously God had answered. And in such a gracious way!_

_I thank you Lord for the bounties you have seen fit to give to me._

 

****

~~~***~~~ 

****

You know, there’s a dirty word… 

****

~~~***~~~ 


	3. 02. Love is Kind

****

Manna From Heaven 

****

Chapter 02 

****

Love is Kind 

Guy and his outriders arrived in Locksley late in the afternoon. It was harvest and while it was Sunday, most of the villagers were preserving vegetables, fruit, and smoking meat, a smell of roast pig in the air. Under normal circumstances, the villagers were used to the odd comings and goings of not only Sir Guy and his men, but, as Guy suspected, Robin Hood’s as well, so they learned long ago to simply keep their heads down and to mind their own business. They, along with the priest, were grateful he chose not to attend mass with them. Never in their wildest imaginations did they think that the mere sight of the inside of the church, the very altar, caused Guy much heartrending distress. None of them recognized how much he loved – still loved - Marian. They wouldn’t have believed it! None of them realized that he hated sleep, would drink himself into a stupor because he had nightmares every single night, replaying her death, his role in it, always culminating with Hood chasing him with a curved scimitar as well as the bloodied broadsword Guy had killed Marian with and left behind.

He always woke in a sweat, crying, begging for death.

But children playing outside ran indoors to tell their parents that Sir Guy had a woman lying over his lap and not only was she was asleep, she was indecently dressed. The first bit of information raised eyebrows, caused many to cross themselves, the second made them to whisper prayers for the poor, unfortunate woman; one could only imagine that the mere sight of the black knight bearing down on her with some sort of unholy wrath had caused her to faint, but the third brought them running from their homes to gawk and stare.

Because yes, she did have a goodly amount of leg showing and yes, she was cradled in Sir Guy’s lap and oh yes, she most definitely was unconscious. 

They rode up in front of the manor, Guy throwing a long limb over, while maintaining his grip on the woman. He slid off easily, nodding to the stable boy to take his horse to the stable and curtly reminding him to rub him down before feeding him. He cradled her close, motioning Joffrey to open the door to the manor. 

He had to step sideways, to get her in without banging her head or her legs. Guy started to call for Thornton, but remembered, as he opened his mouth, that it was Sunday and Thornton wasn’t there.

_‘Another reason to hate Sunday. There was no one to wait on him. Damn peasants for having an off-day!’_

Ducking his head down, he threw himself up the stairs slightly sideways, the weight of the woman in his arms propelling him forward and upward. He bypassed his own room and continued down the hall to one of the smaller rooms, the one he suspected belonged to Robin, growing up. He kicked the door open.

It was dusty, motes flying in the air, in the small streak of sunlight coming through the closed shutters. The room smelled closed up, musty. Ah, this place was not fit for man nor beast. Small wonder Isabella demanded to stay in Nottingham. Good for him. 

Turning abruptly on his boot heel, he turned back towards his rooms, Joffrey in tow with the woman’s belongings.

Oh, he was sure they were hers. And once he got her on the bed and Joffrey out of the room, he had every intention of going through her bag. He wanted to find out who she was or what she was. Mostly he wanted to know why she was dressed so-

_Appealingly_

-scantily.

“Sir, you cannot take her to your room!” Joffrey was appalled. “’Tis not seemly.”

“The second room is not tolerable for guests. Set the bag on the chair by the table and send for Fiona,” he nodded curtly at the man. “Tell her I will pay her an extra crown for her services.” Finally, his arms screaming from the dead weight of the woman, he set her gently on the bed, yet again taking a moment to admire that which wasn’t covered.

Which was quite a bit, actually. 

“What do I do with this?” Joffrey held up the bag.

Guy nodded across the room. “I said put it in the chair by the table.” He watched as the guard placed the large carrier in the chair before backing up and looking over to stare at the woman. “Go. Fetch. Fiona!” 

The man stammered a ‘Yes, m’lord’ before scuttling out of the room. Guy rolled his eyes and wondered how long it would be before he or another one of his ‘trusted men’ reported this to the sheriff. All were supposedly loyal to him, but Guy knew the sheriff, knew how he worked. He worked the same way. If he could employ a member of Robin Hood’s gang to give him information, then no doubt one of his men or villagers kept Vaisey apprised of his own comings and goings as well. Desperate people, no matter how loyal, would do anything for food.

Or extra money. Sir Guy knew that well, having been on both sides of the coin.

Guy took a moment to throw open his window; in doing so, it gave him an excuse to watch Joffrey run across the courtyard. He had a few minutes. Fiona lived outside the village, not far, but far enough. Taking his time, he meandered back to the bed, drinking in every inch of her.

The dress – it was a dress – was outrageously low cut, showing off… oh, she was bountiful. He had heard few men complain that more than a mouthful was too much and Guy did not agree with that sentiment at all. He was of the opinion that if man truly thought that, well, the woman was simply more than the man could handle. And early on, Guy decided he liked more than a handful or a mouthful. He liked a woman a bit more... voluptuous.

As low as the top of the dress was cut, the bottom was short. It rode high on her thighs, barely covering…

_Curious._

Guy sat on the bed, admiring, scrutinizing those long legs. He took off one glove, abusing one of the leather fingers with his teeth; it came off faster. Laying the glove beside her, he ran the tips of his fingers up her leg, starting from the ankle. They were clad in silk, something soft, sheer; however, upon reaching the upper part of her thighs, just beneath the hem of her dress, he felt a different texture. 

Life with Vaisey, living in Nottingham, taught him to look over his shoulder always and he did so now, making sure the manse was still empty, with the exception of himself and this female in his bed. Again securing that the home was empty, he gently took the edge of the dress and lifted it up.

_What the…_

The stockings were topped with a nude colored lace. Running his finger along the top edge, he traced where her skin met the dainty material and wondered how they were held up. So far, he had not come upon the string ties most ladies used to keep their stockings held to their thighs. Suddenly, he encountered a new texture, and he lifted the dress a tad higher. 

_Problem solved._

The stocking appeared to be held up by a set of black… pinchers, for lack of a better word. Out of sheer male curiosity, he raised the dress higher, seeing that the pinchers were attached more black material that went up-

“Sir Guy!” Quickly, he dropped the dress and yanking it down as far as it would go, he slid upwards on the bed and proceeded to at least look very busy searching for a head wound. As much as he cursed the interruption, he was grateful Joffrey had the courtesy to announce his return. The man stormed up the stairs, his boot falls echoing through the manse. He was obviously winded and out of breath when he reached the door.

Guy, by this time, had his fingers – one still clad in the leather glove – well into the roots of the woman’s very soft hair, searching for an injury, anything that would tell him as to why she was unconscious. Finding nothing, he removed them and proceeded to remove his other glove. “Is Fiona on her way?”

“She wasn’t home.” Joffrey was breathing hard. “She went to visit her sister-”

“For a few days.” Guy finished for him. He suddenly remembered the woman asking him for some days off – no pay, of course – as her sister was ill and her brats were running wild. He closed his eyes, a headache beginning to creep up. This left him in a huge predicament. “Joffrey, you need to make other sleeping arrangements for the evening.” Or at least until Guy was able to procure someone else to clean the room and that would not happen today.

“Sir Guy?” 

Guy turned stormy eyes on the captain of his armsman. “You need to make other sleeping arrangements for the evening.”

“But… yes, m’lord, but why?”

The stupidity of the peasants; it was overwhelming.

“Because, she cannot sleep with me in this bed,” he sneered. No. He rathered his bed partners awake and moving. And preferably willing.

“Oh.” The man blushed. “You’re right. Sorry.” He shuffled his feet. “Uhm… do you need anything?”

Realizing that he had sat on the bed long enough, Guy stood up. “Bread, cheese, wine. For her. Bring two goblets.” In recent weeks, the knight ate less and less of Nottingham’s rich fare; the food not only sitting heavy in his stomach for many hours, but since returning from Prince John’s in London, the fear of poison became less a nightmare and more a reality. He didn’t trust Vaisey anymore, not that he had ever trusted him. 

And he trusted Isabella less. His sister had grown into a selfish, inconsiderate, ungrateful bitch. Guy had procured a roof over her head, food and clothing; her husband was a squire. She had a good life. If the man ill-treated her, perhaps she needed to look closer at herself, before blaming Guy for her own poor choices. Had she been a good wife…

_Marian! Am I… was I that… reprehensible?_

At that point, Guy’s heart clenched and clenched painfully. He turned from the bed, conscious that he had blankly been staring at the woman in it. Grateful that Joffrey had left him to his musings to do his bidding, Guy moved away from the bed, turning from the woman and concentrating on the room. Despite the open window, it was stuffy, stifling; closed up and suddenly, he was hot, over-dressed. With long-strides, he crossed the room and standing in front of the window, opened himself up to Hood’s shamefully accurate arrows. By now, Hood probably knew that he had a guest residing in Locksley. He would be pestering the peasants, garnering information. 

In a show of defiance, he yanked at the fastenings of his coat, stripping down to the loose fitting black shirt he wore underneath, a style favored by the English in the south, and slung the discarded clothing across the room. While in London, the confines, the heat, the stench of the city had been cloying and Guy gladly shed the trappings of his leather clothing, reveling in the freedom and coolness of the looser attire; in a sense, changing his look, his outward appearance, stepping away from the foolish and wretched specter he became after returning from the Holy Land. Truth was, deep inside, he was equally glad… no… relieved… to return to Nottingham, welcomed the forest and farm air. 

Too bad he had been unable to capture and kill Hood and his gang. Had he accomplished that, Vaisey would be bowing to him, not the other way around. As it stood…

As it stood, Guy’s days were numbered. He knew it and quite frankly, he no longer cared. The invisible noose around his own neck was getting tighter and tighter. John was as evil a taskmaster as Vaisey was and Guy’s only hope was to placate both while attempting to pit them against each other. Loyalty to Vaisey gained him Locksley. Loyalty to John would gain him more. 

But loyalty to John would more than likely put him in the Sheriff’s crosshairs. Guy would have to tiptoe very carefully. Up until now, he had been adept at it. Truth was, Guy disliked the Sheriff immensely and detested John more. But he learned a long time ago that men who welded power and respect were not likeable creatures. 

But they were respected, feared and Guy wanted that. Respect, power… and once he had that, he would answer to few people. Men, women would beg for his favor. He might even cash it all in, move to his mother’s homeland, purchase something quiet…

He shook his head and backed away from the window as he heard the door open yet again. Joffrey entered with a platter and a pitcher balanced precariously on the tray. Guy made no attempt to aid the inept servant. He barely made it to the small table with the items and Guy’s fears were eased when he managed to put them down without dropping anything. Ah, there were even two earthen goblets; there might be hope for Joffrey just yet. 

“I’ll go clear my things, Sir Guy.” Joffrey cleared his throat. “I’ll let Thornton know you’ll need a girl for cleaning the room for tomorrow.”

Guy nodded once, shocked the simpleton had the forethought to think that far ahead. Yes. There might be hope indeed. As the man backed out of the room, he wondered how long it would be before Vaisey approached him, bribed him to find out what was going on at Locksley. For that matter, he wondered how long he’d be able to keep the girl secret. 

_A day… two at the most, if that. Chances were, Vaisey would find out by the evening. He hoped not._

Guy poured himself a goblet of wine while waiting for the noise of Joffrey taking his things to wherever he was going to die down. The wine was good, not watered down, Guy made sure of that. He was moving up in the world, hoped to go higher, although as previously ruminated on, Guy saw that dream getting loftier and loftier.

_If only Marian hadn’t betrayed him. If only she hadn't tried to kill Vaisey. If only Vaisey hadn't brought her to Acre. If only Vaisey hadn't taken her into the desert, releasing her. If only Vaisey hadn’t been such a ruthless bastard._

_If only... if only... if only..._

As Guy stepped further away from that horrid trip to the Holy Land, the more he convinced himself that Marian’s death was Vaisey’s fault. Vaisey and his schemes, his prejudices, his single-mindedness and it was Vaisey’s fault that Marian was even in the Holy Land, that he forced Gisborne to bring her with them, Vaisey’s fault she didn’t love Guy like she would have had Vaisey not used her the way he had. 

And had Hood been dead…

_A lot of ‘hads’… a lot of if onlys..._

There had been a point, on the trip back, late in the evening, when Guy had seriously contemplated jumping over board, donning all of his gear to weight him down and just going over. Ending it. There had been a strange sense of… déjà vu, a faint, faint memory and the desire had been over-whelming. Sometimes, at night, he had the strangest dreams, that he had been here before, been there, done that. Each time, the nightmare ended differently. Jumping overboard and drowning. Being hung next to Hood and a strange man, who was somehow familiar. Beheaded. That nightmare was particularly heinous.

With yet another hard shake of his head, Guy drained the cup, not savoring the sweetness of the grape, before setting it down hard and looking for the bag that had been thrown down with her.

Her. She needed to wake up. He wanted a name, her name. He wanted to know where she came from, and God knows, he wanted to know why she fell from the sky. Finding what he was looking for, he set the bag on a chair and pushing the tray to the edge of the table, he unfastened the bag. 

As suspected, it was full of not so tightly fitted things. He recognized cloth, but not much else. Looking over his shoulder again to ensure he was alone and that she was still unconscious, Guy began to pull things one at a time from the bag.

The first thing he pulled out were a pair of trousers, made of a heavy blue material that were not made of any tailor he was aware of, nor made to fit a man or boy. This was followed by a strange sort of tunic that appeared to be sewn on, small clothes, smaller small clothes. As with the other things he had removed, these had a scent, a sweet aroma, but this odor was musky, a scent he recognized. He had encountered this scent many times. This was a woman’s scent – a woman who had needs and urges and gave in to them. For a moment, he crushed the garment in his hand, fighting the urge to sink his nose into them and inhale, for this scent was glorious. Regaining his wits and his self-control, he pulled his fist back, the item of clothing pulled away, to inspect them. They were purple; best not let anyone know that. Purple was an expensive, hard to come by dye, reserved only for royalty.

Perhaps she was royalty. Perhaps there was a reward for her return. With that thought, Guy snorted once. She was probably going to end up being a royal pain in his arse. Regardless, she either had wealth or was indulged in by someone with wealth. If this was the case, her family, protector would be looking for her. He laid these all aside, neatly. 

The next item of clothing boggled the mind. There were straps, strange hooks, things that could only be likened to… cups… with wires. He couldn’t begin to fathom what it as for… he hooked the garment together, and turning it this way and that, came to the startling conclusion that the item must certainly be a torture device.

There were more strange things in her bag. He pulled the opening wider, ensuring there were no traps, nothing that would bite. There was a lady in John’s court who carried her small dog in a little sack that she kept with her at all times. The thing yapped and bit, a most disagreeable creature and John himself told Guy he’d like to strangle the thing.

He removed a strange notebook, many uniform pieces of lined parchment, held together by a thin wire spiral. There was a larger notebook, this one with heavier parchment, unlined. He opened it, flipping through strange drawings of stranger tall buildings, drawings of… he couldn’t tell, reason. For some odd reason, he thought it could be a sort of map of rooms. 

There was a long package-bookish thing, with several long parchments in it. The writing was very fine, not the illuminated art that the knight was familiar with and it was extremely small. Looking at it made his eyes hurt.

There was a case when opened, held long slender rods of wood, sharpened to small points. When Guy tested them, he discovered they left a sooty mark on the tip of his finger. There was also a glass strip that made objects appear larger when he peered through it. There was a small bag, with a similar fastening filled with round containers, paints. He picked up the bottle and read what was written on it.

_Tylenol._

Back it went, with whatever was inside, rattling like pebbles. Guy didn’t know what Ty-le-nol was, but he would bet his left testicle it wasn’t something he wanted to know about. 

There were more things in the bag, the strangest of all. Two were black, flat and rectangular; one larger than the other. The smaller fit in his hand, with strange buttons and levers. The buttons had the alphabet and numbers, very small and difficult to see. He set that aside. 

The larger of the flat boxes was similar. He began to press numbers, finally pushing a strange button with a symbol. The front lit up. Pictures, neatly arranged flooded the top, shocking the knight. He dropped it on the table, the sound clattering across the wood, and stepped back. “What witchcraft is this?”

“HEY!” The voice was definitely feminine and most definitely not English.

Or French or Spanish or Infidel. 

Small hands pulled at him, began to grab at the case he dropped on the table. Moving quickly, she began to scoop up the items and threw them back into the bag. “What the hell are you doing with my things?” Guy had to smirk. She was spunky. She elbowed him, trying to get closer, reaching for her clothing. “You’ve been in my underwear?” She shook the purple undergarment at him. “Pervert!” 

Guy blinked. In an instant, this corner of his manor became a dervish whirlwind of angry woman. Curses were falling from her mouth; he supposed they were curses, he couldn’t understand half of what she was saying. Her accent was unfamiliar and it grated on his ears. With a much-practiced roll of his eyes, he reached around her and yanked the bag to him, holding it above his head and took his time looking her over.

She was short, that much he knew, but he hadn’t realized how short. Even in the outrageous footwear, she barely reached his upper chest. Her shoulder-length hair was a dark golden brown, as were her eyes, which were flashing in fury. Standing up and looking down at her at this angle, he had a lovely view of her rather prominent and lovely attributes. As well as a-

There was a slap, a sudden sting on the side of his face. “How dare you look down my dress? What do you think I am?” 

Guy lost his temper. He dropped the bag in the floor and grabbed her by the hair of the head. Ignoring her protests, he yanked her head back, forcing her to look up at him. “Be quiet!” 

Her hands went to his, pulling at his fingers. “You’re hurting me!” 

He squeezed tighter, causing her to yelp. “Be quiet and I will loosen my hold.” He watched as she gritted her teeth, but she stopped yelling. As promised, he freed her hair from his hand, but quickly grabbing both tiny wrists and forcing them behind her back, effectively pulling her against him. “Now you will answer my questions.”

“No.”

Transferring both wrists into one, large, long-fingered hand, his other gently stroked up around her neck, until his thumb was pressed against her windpipe. “Oh, I think you will,” he whispered. 

Her eyes were wide in terror. “What do you want?”

Guy nodded to the table where the strange black boxes still lay. “Unless you can convince me otherwise, I intend to call you out as a witch.”

“I’m not a-”

“Oh, I do not think you are, but I will do so, if your answers do not appease me.” He removed his hand from her throat, instead now sliding down the silver chain that caught his eye earlier. As he reached the bottom of the chain, he dipped his fingers between her breasts, causing her to gasp in indignation. He forced himself not to comment on the silkiness of her skin, rather lifted the object suspended from the hair-thin chain. “You are a Bride of Christ?” 

“A what?”

Guy shook his head in disgust and dropped the chain, turning her loose. “That is too fine a piece for a peasant to own.” Deep inside, he was going to enjoy this. He hadn’t interrogated a woman in a long, long time. 

Her mouth dropped in indignation. “A… a… PEASANT???? Why… you… Neanderthal!” 

“You are either a member of the nobility, a peasant or a Bride of Christ.” He bowed slightly, a mocking smirk playing across his features, which only caused her to bow up more. “I have yet to see proof that you are any of those things.” Her jaw was now flapping; small choking sounds escaping from it. He tapped his lip thoughtfully. “Are you educated?” 

“Am I… of COURSE I’m educated, you moron! I have a college degree and an advanced one, at that!” One too delicate eyebrow for a man arched high. “You know, a university degree? I have a Bachelor’s and a Master’s in Architecture!” 

Oh, this was quite enjoyable. Vaisey thought torture made people talk. Guy, on the other hand, preferred to bait and cajole. Especially women. This one was livid and bouncing up and down, causing things to jiggle. If she was this passionate in anger, one wondered… “I have no earthly clue what you are talking about. What is architecture?” 

The hacking sounds emitting from her throat stopped. “What is… architecture is the creating and building of structures like homes and buildings and churches and bridges-”

“You are a builder?” Guy’s eyebrow rose again in derision. She nodded. “You build homes?” 

“And office buildings and high rises!” 

Baiting her was too easy. Enjoyable, but too easy. Nonetheless, Guy was truly taking great pleasure in her fury. “Castles,” he interjected. “Do you build castles?” He watched her jaw drop in indignation. “Fortresses? Moats?”

“Where do you think we are?” she demanded. “The Dark Ages?”

Guy turned her loose, stooping over to pick up her bag. Stepping around her, he set it on the table. He turned on her, one finger up. “Do not touch it!”

“It’s mine!” 

Both Guy’s eyebrows were up. “Not right now, it is not. You might get it back, if you continue to answer my questions honestly.” He began to pull out her clothes again, hanging on to her purple small, small clothes for an unnatural long length of time. With a smug smile, he tucked them into his sword belt at his back, enjoying watching her jaw drop yet again. He continued to dig, finding the notebooks. He pulled the larger one out, opening it to the first page, the drawing of the tall building. “What is this?”

She peered at the page. “That’s a draft sketch of The Strandage-Coach Building that was just green-lit for construction in two years in Raleigh-Durham. I plan to tinker with it and then put the plans and costs into the bid war for the contract.”

“Bid war?”

She was nodding. “Yeah. That’s when companies or firms try to out-bid each other for a contract.”

_What language was she speaking? It sounded like English, but it wasn’t…_

“A… firm?”

“Yeah.” She was nodding as if in agreement with him. “I own an architectural firm. I have forty-eight employees…” She began to rattle about ‘office space’ and ‘graphic arts’ and Guy’s head was now pounding as if someone was using a mallet between his eyes. 

Ignoring her prattle, he turned the page to the weird map. “What is this?”

Her face brightened up. “Oh, that’s the floor plans of my house I’m going to build when I sell my business!” 

“You mean, your firm.”

She was still rattling on. “…but I’m supposed to be selling it next week. And not at a shabby price, mind you.”

Guy held up a finger. “You are selling it? Not your husband, or your father?”

Her brow knitted, angry furrows ridged between her eyebrows. “I don’t have a husband. And it’s not my father’s business.”

No husband? Guy looked at her closely. He figured she was his age; early to mid-thirties. Surely she should have a husband and children by now.

But she did things, knew things, had power that a woman shouldn’t possess. Things… she just was not… normal. “Do you read?” he blurted. There was a reason Guy asked this. Peasants could not read. He didn’t think she was a peasant. The few noble women he knew that could read had been indulged by lenient fathers who either could afford to throw money away, or like Marian, was an only child. Guy's mother could read two languages fluently and she made sure both of her children were educated as well. This woman made the hair rise on the back of his neck. It was an unpleasant, uncomfortable feeling.

“WHAT?”

Guy blinked. “Do. You. Read?” He said it as if addressing a small child.

Both fists were on her hips. “I said I’m educated! Of course, I read!”

Quietly, Guy pulled out the folder and handed it to her. “Read that.”

She snatched it from him and opened it. Squinting, she shook her head. “I need the magnifying ruler.” Again, that infuriating eyebrow rose. “The font…. the writing’s too small. If you’ll let me…” Guy had his hand in the bag, digging. Out came the bag of paints and other things. His hand went in again and he pulled out…

They were fuzzy and black, two round clasps joined by a chain. He swung one circle around on his finger. “This looks… interesting.” Her look was mutinous, arms folded over her chest. “Will you tell me what they are?” Her head dipped low between her shoulders, her look as dark as any he had conjured. He shrugged. Time was on his side. He set them aside and still watching her grow angrier and angrier, put his hand back in the bag. 

What he grabbed felt funny, had a strange shape and as he pulled it from the large sack, horrified her. She lunged at him, causing him to raise it above his head before inspecting it. “Ah. Something valuable?” Quickly, she returned to her spot, arms crossed and her face black with rage. He lowered his arm to inspect the object.

She charged forward again, not taking the Black Knight by surprise. He reached out, placing his free hand on her head and held her in place, safely out of her arm’s reach. “What is this?” He waved it at her, still holding it above his head.

“It’s a toy. An adult toy.” She was now turning red with mortification. She held her hand out. “Please give it to me. This is quite embarrassing.” 

Guy inspected it. It was shaped oddly; a pink bulbous section along with what looked like a giant butterfly. There was a black handle with levers. Guy flipped one of the levels, only to hear it whirr and the parts move, one in a circular motion and the butterfly vibrating madly. The woman lowered her face into splayed fingers, her blush now moving up the part in hair. Guy flipped the lever to its original position. “A …toy?” She nodded her head affirmatively; face still mostly hidden in her hand. “I think I would like to watch you play with it.”

“Oh Lord.” It was a whisper, an intake of breath.

“I have never seen the like.” She realized that this extremely tall man was standing over her, murmuring in her ear. She jerked up, her nose a mere breath away from his. She swallowed hard. “I do not believe the Lord had anything to do with it. Are you sure you are not a witch?”

“No,” she whispered. “I’m not.”

Guy laid the butterfly vibe next to the fuzzy handcuffs, before digging, this time looking. “Your magnifying ruler. What does it look like? Ah-” Remembering the long glass, he dug, finding it and handed it to her.

She snatched it angrily, before stalking to the windowsill. She pulled out the parchment and laying it the ledge, placed the magnifying ruler over the top.

“Where are you going and what are you doing?”

“There’s no lights in this place.” To him, it sounded like she said ‘thairs’ and ‘lahts.’ “There are candles in your overheads,” she nodded to the candelabra in the middle of the ceiling, “and you’ve no lamps.” She shook her head and returned her attention to the parchment, adjusting the glass. “I don’t know how you see squat.” She squinted, before crooking her finger at him. As he leaned over her, he noticed she scrunched up her nose as if smelling something foul. This made him snarl. Guy knew it couldn’t be him; he had had a bath just the week before last. Slowly, she began-

_“Whereas, Slayman, Raschberg, and Ficklebutte (hereafter known as Buyer) desires to possess and own the business known as Robinson Architect Ltd. owned by Genevieve F. Robinson (hereafter known as Seller) and property, contracts, and miscellaneous items described in Attachment A, and Whereas, the parties have agreed that Buyer shall take possession of the business on October 1st, 2013 and …_

“Wait,” Guy interrupted. “What was the date?”

“October first.”

“The year.”

“2013. It’s next Friday.”

He backed up in horror. “The year of our Lord, 2013?” 

She looked over her shoulder, puzzled. “That’s an antiquated term, if I’ve ever heard one.” She saw the confusion on his face. “It’s an old-fashioned term. Not been used in several hundred years.” She shrugged. “Not since the Catholic Church lost power, I’d say. Long time.”

Things suddenly became very clear to Guy. Rome lost power? “Are you hungry?”

Her grin was sarcastic. “Find your manners and gonna invite me now for dinner?”

Guy ignored the jab. Throwing everything haphazardly back into the bag, with the exception of the toy and fuzzy things, he motioned her to take a chair and took the things to his bed. “Have a seat and serve yourself. My servants are off today, so we have to make do.”

She watched him carefully, before sitting down in front of the platter of food and setting the contract next to her. The food was plain and there were no utensils. Without a word, she broke the bread apart and put a small bit in her mouth. It was hard, slightly stale, but she was too well brought up to complain. He was right, however; she was hungry. She watched as he made his way back to the table, picked up the pitcher and poured both goblets full. Lifting up his, he took a sip, before handing hers to her. “The wine is good. Try it.”

She took the cup from him, taking a small sip, before sighing in relief. He was right; it was good; cool and not too sweet. He nodded to the bread and cheese.  
“The fare is usually better, however-”

“The servants are off, so you’re stuck with leftovers.” She shrugged. “It’s fine.” She watched him as he sat down across from her. “Where am I? Who are you?”

His nose, which she had to admit, was the most prominent feature on his face, was buried in his goblet. Eyes like a summer storm stared up at her dispassionately and he continued to drink.

“Look, buddy. I’ve answered your questions, now please return the favor! One minute, I was minding my own business, on my way home from work for a dinner date and the next minute, I’m in what I guess is your bed and you’re pawing through my unmentionables.”

Guy drained the goblet and set it down. Finally she was asking the questions he suspected she would have asked much sooner, had he not been going through her things. “Your name is Genevieve?”

“Yes. Genevieve Robinson. Do you have a knife for this cheese?”

Guy pulled his own eating knife from his belt and pulling the platter to his side of the small table, cut several cubes for her, before pushing it back. He completely missed that she turned green. “Robinson. Son of Robin.” He glared at her. “You openly admit you are related to Robin Hood?”

“WHAT?” She – Genevieve – sounded astounded. “Robin Hood? Robin Hood is a myth!” Her face suddenly lit up. “Wait! Is this the Renaissance Festival? How’d I get here?” She tapped her lip thoughtfully. “I didn’t know they were doing Autumn Fairs.” 

Guy’s headache was now growing to epic proportions. “This is no faire.” Trying to get back to the point at hand, he continued. “The ‘F’ in your name means?”  
“Faith.”

_Faith. But of course. Genevieve Faith Robinson, but not Son of Robin and not affiliated with Hood’s band of men and women. Oh no, that would be too simple._ “Where are you from?”

“I don’t see-”

“I am trying to help you, help you get home as soon as possible,” Guy hissed through gritted teeth. “The sooner, the better. Today, if possible! Where are you from?” Pray it was a nearby convent or something simple.

“Atlanta, Georgia.”

“Alanna Jorjah?”

She scrunched up her face. “No. Atlanta.”

“You said it again. Alanna.”

“At-lan-ta.”

“You should enunciate clearly.” Guy’s eyes rolled. “The convent of At-lan-ta Jorjah? I have never heard of this convent-”

“CONVENT? I’m not Catholic, you dweeb! I’m Baptist. And Atlanta isn’t a convent. It’s a large city in the United States.” She sat back in her chair and stared at her hands. “A very large city. Several million people.” 

Guy gave her a blank stare. He reached across the table and filled his wine goblet again, his mind whirling with everything she said, everything she had with her and then what she had read and yes what she read was correct. He was reading over her shoulder. Draining the goblet again and savoring the gentle buzz he was getting, he set the wine cup down.

“My name is Sir Guy of Gisborne, Lord of Locksley. You are in Nottingham, in England. It is the year 1196.”He ignored her gasp and continued. “Richard Cœur de Lion is England’s King and I am Lieutenant and second in command to the Sheriff of Nottingham. Robin Hood is not a myth and is the bane of my existence. If you are who you say you are, if you are from where and when you say you are from, and I believe that you tell the truth, I think… no, I know you are in quite the predicament.” He motioned for her own goblet. “Would you like some more wine?” Not waiting for her answer, he leaned across the table and taking it, he refilled it. 

“You’re lying.”

Guy dipped his head, a moue on his mouth. “Oh, that is not a very nice thing to say, especially after I have taken you in, fed you, gave you wine, listened to the wild tale you told me. Personally, I cannot imagine a father, a husband, or a convent allowing their daughter to own, much less make decisions about anything. You must live in hell.” He found himself pelted with cheese. Once she wasted herself and he had flicked the cheese to the floor, he leaned back, scrutinizing her face. “What is truly sad is I believe you.” He began to rub his index and middle finger with his thumb, thinking… thinking… 

“We need to find you suitable clothing-”

“What’s wrong with my clothes?”

Guy smiled mirthlessly. “They are… provocative.” His smile grew larger. “The slatterns at the pub in Nottingham would throw food at you and curse you in the street for daring take their business.” She gasped indignantly at that and Guy thought she would have thrown more cheese at him, if there was any left. He stood up slowly and dusted off his clothing. “Many men would consider you fair game, dressed as you are. They might pay you.” He lifted a finger and cut her off. “I am going to the stable, to check on my horse-”

_To terrorize the stableboy and ensure Joffrey says nothing to the sheriff_

“- and while I am gone, I suggest you change into something not so... stimulating... and more appropriate.” He waited a moment for his words to sink in. “We will need to come up with a suitable story for your sudden appearance. The last thing you want is for the Sheriff to become interested in you.”

“And why should that bother me?”

Guy thought for a moment. “Robin Hood to you is a myth?”

“Yes.”

“What does your ‘myth’ tell you about the Sheriff of Nottingham?”

She swallowed hard. “That he was a cold-blooded, evil, power-hungry bastard.”

Guy smirked. “Your myth is kind.” His smile dropped and he was all seriousness again. “Change your clothes. Now.” He headed towards the door.

“Wait.” He stopped and looked over his shoulder. She was bouncing delightfully. “Where is… the bathroom?” She took in his confused look. “The toilet? I need to… pee.”

He nodded over to the corner. “The privy is through there.” He exited the room, shutting the door, none to gently.

Halfway down the hall, he was stopped by the sound of Genevieve screaming at the top of her lungs. It was heard through the open window and by many of the villagers, who wondered what on earth what perversions the dark knight was doing to that poor, half-dressed woman. 

 

****

~~~***~~~ 

****

Wonder if I’ll ever have it under my tongue 

****

~~~***~~~ 


	4. 03 - Love does...

****

Manna from Heaven 

****

Chapter 03 

****

Love does… 

Her scream was ear-splitting.

Guy drew his sword and turned. Rushing back to his room, he threw the door open, only to find Genevieve standing in the middle of the room, white-knuckled fists bunched in front of her face. He expected Hood to be there or an arrow sticking out from somewhere. “What? Who?”

Genevieve flung her finger at the privy. Before Guy could head in that direction, she heaved, “That isn’t a bathroom! It’s a flipping stockpot on a shelf!” 

In that moment, Guy realized that she wasn’t being accosted. Resheathing his sword, he gritted his teeth. “I am sorry the privy is not to your liking. It is all I have.” He now glared at her, furious that he had been frightened for her. “I would suggest you get used to it,” he spat quietly. With that, he turned on his heel and stormed out the door, leaving it open. 

Genevieve glared at the door before stomping over to slam it shut. “I should have told him I saw a mouse!” Turning back towards the privy, she took a deep breath and marched in.

She almost screamed again when she realized there was no toilet paper.

****

~~~…~~~ 

The stable was quiet, absent of screeching females, thank God. Guy made quick work on his own charger, before giving him a carrot and going to the stall to the stallion across the way. He had sleek lines and cost him a fair amount of money, but at the time and even now, he thought the equine was well worth it. Even if the woman Guy had given the mount to didn’t love him, she certainly loved the horse and in the end, he took satisfaction in knowing that.

One of the few pleasures in life Guy learned long ago was grooming a horse. Many considered it a punishment, so he made sure none of his early masters knew that he enjoyed it. It was a task he loved. There was serenity in the repetitious actions and he could think in peace without being disturbed. He sorted his priorities, made plans, long and short term, figured out problems, arranged in his mind what was important now, what could not wait and what could. 

And right now, Genevieve Robinson disturbed him. Her manner of dress disturbed him; her way of talking disturbed him, her… beliefs?... her independence very much disturbed him. How she arrived disturbed him. 

It disturbed him that he _wanted_ to believe her, that she was not of this time. Her manner of clothing, the things in her bag were definitely unexplainable, not of any culture or region Guy could name. There was no other explanation, at least, not one he could come up with. The problem was unless she was careful, someone would accuse her of witchcraft and the last thing he wanted was to see another woman dunked in the pond. The last one was bad enough! The Sheriff had been incensed that the healer escaped!

Speaking of Vaisey, he was going to have to tell him first thing in the morning about Genevieve. To _not_ tell him would bring down questions, Vaisey’s wrath upon him and he didn’t want that. Guy had curried that wrath many times, had been on the vicious end of it, especially where a woman - 

_…Marian…_

\- was concerned, but he was no sadist. But by the same side of the crown, he didn’t want her under Vaisey’s thumb, which would put Genevieve directly in Isabella’s path. He had a feeling Genevieve was tough, but Isabella was a bitch. 

Which left Guy in position of making up some story…

Or perhaps, the truth. Or some semblance of the truth. Perhaps play on Vaisey’s fears or better yet, that which disgusted the man. Gisborne smiled evilly. 

The stallion was now looking expectantly over his shoulder. Scratching him on the nose, Guy retrieved an apple from the apple barrel to give to him. Many times, the peasants quietly remarked that Sir Guy of Gisborne treated his horses, especially _Her_ horse better than his supposed people and in that, they were right. He should sell him, or at least see that he was truly exercised, not put on a turnstile every few days and not just set out to pasture, but he didn’t have the heart for it. In a sense, the equine was the last true link he had to Marian. Shutting the barn door, he knew exactly what he would tell the Sheriff on the morrow.

****

~~~…~~~ 

Once Genevieve managed to drip-dry in the…what on earth did he call it? The privy? Privy to what? Genevieve knew what an outhouse was, her grandmother had neighbors with outhouses. HELL! Her grandmother had an outhouse, but sometime before Genevieve was born, her grandfather had installed indoor plumbing. That privy was nothing more than an indoor outhouse! The only time Genevieve used the outhouse was when she was having too much fun outside to come inside to answer nature’s call. At least the place had been stocked with toilet paper and reading material!

_Of course, the reading material was usually the Sears or JC Penney catalogue, but still…_

Not knowing how long she was going to have alone, Genevieve quickly pulled out everything in her gym bag and separated everything. It was unusually heavy due to the two changes of clothes and the extra things; her casual Friday work clothes and her workout clothes. Her workout clothes needed to be aired out. Shoot. They needed washed but by who knows how that was going to happen in this… if she could find a place to air them before the sun went down, she could sleep in them tonight. So with reluctance, she reached for her underwear.

After digging for a moment, she began to curse. That drop-dead sexy gorgeous hunk of medieval biker bad boy walked out of there with her underwear still tucked in his hip pocket! If someone says something to him, it would serve him right! 

But it still left her stuck in her lacy thong. Crap! Not having much choice, she changed clothes, back into her jeans and white tunic top. At least it had been Casual Friday. God forbid she had had a meeting or conference and been in a business suit. The floorboards felt rough against her feet and she found her sequenced flats, dropping them to the floor and putting them on. Once she was presentable and not worried about tall, dark and probably Dom out his ass walking in on her, she began to neatly put everything else back in her gym bag, the vibrator and handcuffs on the bottom. Dear God in Heaven, she was still blushing at the thought of that man watching her play with herself. As the dress and heels went in, she wondered about her catered dinner, Lamar… 

_Lamar isn’t coming to dinner. . .remember? Not tonight, not ever again…_

Except tonight wasn’t ‘tonight’… it wasn’t even today. 1196. Eleven friggin’ ninety-six. 

How did this happen? How did she get here? Why was she here? 

Why did she believe him? This was just bat-shit crazy. 

NO! This was a dream. She had fallen asleep at the wheel or… or… or…

Holding her iPhone, she climbed up on the bed and sat down. Scrolling through the prompts, she reached the last one. According to her icons, it had been played, listened to.

 _Uhm… hi… Genevieve… It’s Lamar. Look, I’m going to have to cancel our date tonight… this weekend. I..._

Genevieve turned it off, her head dropping. That wasn’t a dream. Dropping her iPhone in her bag, she propped her chin in her hand. The last thing she remembered was driving down International Street, listening to her messages and then…

_Horns blaring, a loud crash…_

_A car wreck. I’ve been in a car wreck._

“Oh shit,” she murmured out loud. “I’m dead and this is hell. I’m stuck with Lamar in my iPhone to taunt me and with that gorgeous, awful man to tease me for eternity.” Sorrowfully, she dropped her face to her hands. Eventually, her body gave out and she tipped over.

And that was how Guy found her. Lying on his bed, curled in a fetal position, and crying her eyes out.

****

~~~…~~~ 

Sleep did not come readily to Genevieve that night. A strange room, a strange bed, no window for air, a strange unwashed-male stench; none of this added up to a good night’s rest. Sir Guy had not given up his room for his guest, no. He put her in his armsman’s room, off the small armory, which was attached to the main room. A group of men were stationed there for the evening and their laughter and card playing kept her tossing and turning. As a kindness, Sir Guy had given her a pitcher of wine and a goblet, suggesting she drink it. She did so, but not before putting the chair under the latch and dragging the small table in front of the door as well. She attempted to pull the bed in front of the door, however it was too heavy for her.

Gisborne allowed her to take her bag, but not before taking everything out and keeping the vibrator and fuzzy handcuffs. He refused to give her underwear back! What he thought he would do with them made Genevieve shudder. Truth was, she didn’t think he knew what they were; he only knew it embarrassed her and he did it on purpose.

Douchebag! 

Somewhere in the night, things did quieten down and Genevieve did mange to fall into a restless slumber.

_“Genevieve!”_

_“Val?”_

_“Yes. I need to talk to you!”_

_“Go away, Val. I’m dead.”_

_Val chuckled. “No you’re not, but I need to talk to you. Just for a few.”_

_Genevieve rolled over, seeing her Office and Lead Project Manager sitting on the table. “Val? Really! I’ve died and gone to hell. It’s awful.” Genevieve started to sit up and tell her about Lamar and the wreck, but the woman waved her hand._

_“No, you’re not dead, but you need to listen to me. You have things to work on, to study while you can, while it’s quiet.”_

_“Val!” Genevieve began to wail. “Lamar dumped me. He couldn’t say it to my face! He broke up with me in a voice mail!” She sniffled hard. “He’s going to take someone else to the Red Cross Ball. I already bought my dress!”_

_“Lamar is a shit, Genevieve. He’s not worth the salt in your tears, so don’t cry and don’t grieve. He was never meant for you and not good enough for you. What you’ve got in your hands right now is much better!” Tissue appeared in Genevieve’s fingers._

_“Tissue?” Genevieve blew her nose. “Snot-laden tissue is better than Lamar?”_

_Val inhaled and shook her head in disgust. “You need to straighten your priorities out, chickie-poo. That’s why you’re where you are. To sort your priorities! Concentrate on the important things and that panty-wipe isn’t important! Now listen up and repeat after me. You are not dead.”_

_“I am not dead.”_

_“You are not in hell.”_

_“Yes, I am.”_

_“GENEVIEVE!”_

_“Alright.” She sighed and slumped. “I am not in hell.”_

_“Trust Sir Guy.”_

_“Trust…but he’s a dickweed! A hunky dickweed but-”_

_“Genevieve! Would you like to fix things and come home sometime soon?”_

_Genevieve hung her head and mumbled. “Trust Sir Guy of Dickweed.”_

_She felt soft hands on her face, lifting it to look into Val’s ageless face. “Trust Sir Guy.”_

_“All right. I will.”_

_“Do not trust the Sheriff. Do not trust Isabella. Do not trust Robin.”_

_Genevieve jerked her head from her friend’s hands. “Who are these people?”_

_“People you do not trust. Do as Sir Guy instructs you to do. As long as you do not agitate him, go against him, he will do his best to keep you safe.”_

_“Don’t agitate the douche bag. Trust him, but no one else!” Genevieve slouched again. “Anything else?”_

_“You have your work, child. Concentrate on it.” Val patted her on the knee. “The sooner you finish it, the sooner you can come home. But do not be in a huge hurry. Enjoy yourself.” Val stood up. “Remember, you are as strange to these people as they are to you. You need to fit into their world for a little while. And as for Sir Guy, his heart is broken as well; as broken as yours. More so, in fact. Shattered and he does not begin to know where all the pieces are or where to begin to look to pick them up. He does not know who to trust, who to believe. Remember that. Now, lay down.”_

_Genevieve did as she was told, pulling the scratchy quilt over her. She closed her eyes._

_“VAL! Wait!”_

_“Yes?”_

_Genevieve held up the wadded tissue. “Can I have a lot of this? These people don’t have toilet paper.”_

_She fell asleep to giggling._

****

~~~…~~~ 

The next morning came too early, as usual. Guy’s head was pounding from his over-imbibing of wine, but that was becoming habit. If he was lucky, yesterday had been a dream and there wasn’t a strange woman from a time not come, not in Joffrey’s room, off the guardroom.

After getting dressed, he stomped downstairs, Thornton waiting for him. 

Guy actually _liked_ Thornton, even though the man had been the steward for Robin and Robin’s father. He was courteous when Guy took over when Robin disappeared in the Holy Lands, as well as when the Locksley Lands had been given back to Gisborne upon Hood’s being declared an outlaw. The time or two Guy had asked for the man for advice, he had gotten it – sound, fatherly, and thoughtful. He treated Guy with respect, something Guy craved and he didn’t get the feeling it was a fake deference. He certainly didn’t get it from anyone else.

So as he went down the stairs, his mind on what the Sheriff might have for him and convinced yesterday had been nothing more than a drunken dream, he was disappointed to see the table set for two.

With two flagons.

“Good morning, Sir Guy. You slept well?”

“As well as could be expected.” Guy walked around the man and pulled out his chair.

The man began to pour the mead. “I have taken the liberty of arranging a girl to fill in for Fiona for the next day or two. At least until your guest is settled.”

“Good.” 

“We will concentrate on preparing the room down the hall for her.” 

“Fine.” Well, what else was he supposed to say? “Why two pitchers?”

“Yours has something to ease your headache.” 

This made Gisborne sit up and most unhappily. “You have been drugging me?”

Thornton closed his eyes. “Might I speak candidly, Sir Guy?” Not really waiting for an answer, he continued. “The amount of wine that disappears each night is substantial, however it is not my place to mention it nor would I. However,” with this, he opened his eyes, his eyes clear and sympathetic, “I can imagine drinking that much would give you a headache. Your eyes squint in the morning light, sir. It’s obvious.” He shrugged. “It’s a remedy my wife used the few times we celebrated at weddings a bit too heavily.” 

Guy had to admit, when his hangover had been wretched, it dissipated quickly after drinking the morning mead. Nodding his thanks, he pulled over the platter of cheese and bread. No sooner than he had settled into eating, the guardroom door opened. Genevieve slithered out, wearing her outlandish trousers, which looked as if they had been painted on and the white tunic. Her hair was mussed and she slid into the chair next to Guy, her eyes squinting against the morning sun. Without a word, Guy pulled her goblet over and poured some of his doctored mead into it. “Good morning, Genevieve,” he cheerfully announced loudly, causing the older man’s eyebrow to rise. “This is my steward, Thornton.” 

“Shaddup.” Genevieve’s head was now in her hands. “That was for Sir Guy, not you, Mr. Thornton. I’m pleased to meet you.” Without looking up, she held out her right hand, waiting for the man to shake it. When it didn’t happen, she waved at him and continued on, “Can I get two eggs over easy, some bacon, dry whole wheat toast and coffee. Lots and lots of coffee.” 

Both men stared at her. Thornton cleared his throat. “Lady Genevieve, we have cheese and bread on the table. I can bring you some fruit, if you wish.” Genevieve nodded at that. “If you will drink the mead Sir Guy has graciously poured for you, it will help your headache.” With this, the man turned and glided from the hall.

Genevieve answered with a jaw-cracking yawn. “Is there something in the mead?” 

“Yes.” Guy was inwardly amused at the glare he received from her. “We need to talk.”

“We did that yesterday.”

Gisborne smirked at her response. Thornton returned with a bowl of apples and pears. Palming one of the apples for himself, Guy pushed the bowl over her way, waiting for Thornton to leave. “We need to talk.”

Genevieve now had an apple of her own, inspecting it for a point of attack. “I am listening.” 

Guy completely skipped morning rituals with manners. “I am going to Nottingham for the day. You will stay here and stay out of trouble.” She snorted at that. He, of course, had no idea that she had had the most amazing dream the night before and she was seriously considering taking her office manager’s word for it and following her instructions. “While there, I will obtain suitable clothing for you.” He got another sideways eye-roll from her. “I will also inform the sheriff of your presence.”

Genevieve shot up at that. “You said he was-”

“I know.” Gisborne was now snarling. “He has spies everywhere and if does not already know by now that you are here, he will within a few days at the most. It will not bode well for either of us if he finds out second hand. Best he hear it from me.” He was shocked when her hand began to brush the arm of his shirt. 

“Dust,” she explained. Again, she wrinkled her nose as if smelling something wretched. This set Gisborne’s teeth on edge. Why did she act as if something smelled rotten?

“While I am gone, you are to stay close. I would prefer you do not leave the manor, however if you must wander, stay within sight of it. If anyone asks you of anything, simply tell him or her you were accosted and robbed on the road, your belongings were stolen and you do not remember anything save your name, which would be _Lady_ Genevieve. Anything more would be unwise.” Having finished with his meal, he stood up. “Be here in time for dinner. I do not wait and I will not ask Thornton to hold it up for you.” He started to tell her that he was leaving Joffrey behind for her, but decided not to. She was being watched; no need to let her know of such. If she were up to anything or a spy for Hood…

Except he was sure she wasn’t …

But he had been assured that Marian wasn’t gallivanting with Hood, only to discover she was… 

_There was never an us. We will never be! I love Robin Hood; I’m going to marry Robin Hood…_

Without warning, Guy leaned over her chair, his nose in her face, demanding her attention. “Do not test me, _‘Lady’_ Genevieve. You are a guest here. You could easily be a guest in Nottingham.” Before Genevieve could say anything, he turned and grabbing his jacket, threw it on and began to buckle the front, while leaving the manor. 

For a full minute after he left, everyone in the main room held their breath. In fact, it wasn’t until the thunder of hooves, announcing the departure of Gisborne and his guardsmen, did the collective whole breathe a sigh of relief. 

“Is he always this... difficult?” Genevieve gasped for air. The heavy weight in the room, lifted with each inhaled breath.

“Oh,” Thornton intoned solemnly, “Sir Guy was very much in the good mood this morning.” Genevieve’s jaw dropped. “Quite jovial, actually.”

Genevieve turned to look at the man now sitting on her right side. Joffrey reached for the trencher filled with bread. “Jovial? That was… jovial?”

Joffrey was now stuffing his mouth with bread. “Oh, aye. Normally, he don't say two words to us. I think Sir Guy likes you. That’s a relief.” Thornton nodded in agreement. 

Genevieve exhaled loudly. Liking her was the last thing she wanted him to do.

****

~~~…~~~ 

Genevieve was quickly realizing she was out of her element. Soon after Guy left and she finished her meal, she attempted to help clear the table, only to be kindly admonished that as a lady, she was not allowed to do menial tasks. Thornton then informed her she was to refer to him as Thornton, not ‘Mister’ Thornton – the man had no clue what ‘Mister’ meant.

The young girl arrived to clean what would be Genevieve’s room while she was here. She truly was no more than a girl; fifteen at best. Her name was Eleanor – named after the Queen, she was – and she was horrified that Genevieve wished to help her. Apparently, Sir Guy was to pay her an entire half crown for helping while Fiona was gone and if he thought she was shirking her duties, not only would she not get paid, she might be made an example of and her family needed the money. She actually went as far as to shove Genevieve out of the room and shut the door in her face!

Joffrey, who seemed to be glued to her side, just shrugged.

It then occurred to Genevieve that she could use this time, without Sir Grumpybutt hanging over her and scrutinizing every move, to work on that contract. Val _did_ say to use this time wisely, but to have fun and enjoy herself.

Enjoy herself? This place smelled rancid! Like no one bathed, or flushed a toilet. 

Apologizing to Joffrey for commandeering his room – he shrugged again – she took her bag to the main table and pulled out the spiral notebook and the contract, along with a mechanical pencil and the magnifying bar.

Joffrey, who had been ordered to say nothing, least he find himself with his tongue cut out, turned white when she extracted her strange implements. 

Thornton ignored her.

Genevieve was a visual learner. When she was in grade school, she discovered that if she wrote things down, copied them and put them in a dialect she understood, she remembered them better. It worked in church, when the old preacher demanded that everyone read from the King James Version and none other. (He seemed to think John the Baptist read the KJV!) Shakespeare drove Genevieve up a wall and this was the only way she could learn it. This worked especially well when she took European Literature in high school and college. But it especially aided her when she took Copyright Law and worked with several contracts that had a too small font, before she was able to afford George. It was time consuming, painstakingly slow, but it worked.

She opened the notebook, put the magnifying ruler on the contract and began to write.

 

_“Whereas, Slayman, Raschberg, and Ficklebutte (hereafter known as Buyer) desires to purchase and own the business known as Robinson Architect Ltd. owned by Genevieve F. Robinson (hereafter known as Seller) and said property, contracts, and miscellaneous items described in Addendum A, and Whereas, the parties have agreed that Buyer shall take possession of the business on October 1st, 2013 and agreed to the following terms…_

Genevieve’s eyes were burning with strain. The natural light was poor and this was going to take forever. With a growl, she slammed everything together, causing Joffrey to jump in the corner. The main door was open and the light was bright. She had half a mind to drag the huge table over by the door, but thought better of it. The last thing she wanted was to scratch up the floorboards. Or upset Thornton.

Or tick off Sir Sexy-pants!

Besides, the air was stifling; the smell of the home borderline gagging. How anyone could stand to stay in it was beyond her. Grabbing an apple and some cheese – she was going to be sick of cheese when this was over – she gathered her things and headed out the door.

The place, the square, if one could call it that, was bustling with people, mostly children, with the occasional stray animal. It smelled like a barnyard, which Genevieve could tolerate. They all stopped to stare at her.

“You are as strange to them as they are to you,” Genevieve quietly mumbled to herself. “Just remember that. You are strange.” She smiled gamely and nodded to the nearest person, who appeared to be a boy about ten years of age. “Hey there, young man. Can you tell me of a quiet place where a girl can get some peace and sunshine?” 

_And doesn’t stink like an army latrine?_

“Yer legs are covered,” the boy noticed most obviously. “Why are y’wearin’ man’s trousers?” His accent was quite thick and he was difficult to understand. “Yew dress weird. Not like a girl at all!” 

She opened her mouth to tell him that she was not dressed strangely when she remembered what Guy told her to say. “I was robbed and whoever robbed me took pretty much everything.”

“Weren’t Robin Hood,” the boy announced loudly. “He’d only want yer jewels and money. He don’t take no clothes.” He pointed to her jeans. “Wot yew call them things, anyway?” 

Feminine ego reared its ugly head. “Why,” she smiled, “these are called ‘Skinny Jeans’.”

The boy’s friends had by now joined him. “Wot yew wearin’ ‘em fore? Yer not skinny!” His friends seem to think that was quite funny.

“Rob!” The swat came from nowhere. “Mind your manners!” The woman, who was old before her time, turned to Genevieve. “M’lady, I apologize. Sometimes, his mouth gets away from him.” She dipped her head. “He don’t mean no harm. Please don’t tell Sir Guy. He’ll make an example of him.”

Genevieve felt sorry for the woman. She wondered what kind of an example one could make of a child. “No harm done.” She looked over her shoulder to her rear end. “They _are_ pretty tight! I imagine I look pretty freakish to you.” When the woman sagged in relief, she continued. “And it’s Genevieve.” Reconsidering, she added, “Lady Genevieve.” She ran her tongue through her mouth. That felt weird to even say it. “Look, I’m looking for a quiet spot away from -

_…the stench…_

\- the noise and plenty of light. I’m hoping a peaceful surrounding will… you know… help my memory. I don’t remember much,” Genevieve added sheepishly. 

“Oh, the pasture would probably be your best bet.” The woman turned and gave Genevieve directions out behind the barn. After giving the woman her thanks, she continued. “My name’s Gode. I promise you ma’am, I’ll punish him for his mouth.” With that, she turned away, with the boy in tow, pulling him by his ear. 

“You should let Sir Guy punish him, m’lady,” Joffrey had been close by and overheard the entire exchange. “That would teach him some manners.” 

Genevieve realized that this could turn ugly. “Do not. He is a child and he is naturally curious.”

“Still-”

“If you tell, I will tell Sir Guy that I had a lovely walk through the forest by myself this afternoon, and had the most delightful conversation with Robin Hood.”

“Didn’t see a thing, m’lady. Lovely day for a walk and a sit in the pasture, in’nit?” He scrunched his face in consternation. “Wait a minute. Yer not supposed to know I’m keepin’ an eye on you.” 

“I’m not stupid, Joffrey.” 

“Didn’t think you were.”

And the two set off to the pasture.

****

~~~…~~~ 

In the end, it was a good thing Joffrey came with her. Three times, he steered her away from manure piles and such. She almost stepped into the first one and it was quite large. This upset her, seeing how she had been raised on a farm, but there had been few animals. Mostly land and the tractor, as well as a few horses and mules. The sheep were largely uninterested in the woman sitting by the tree, writing carefully in her tablet. The horses were equally uninterested, save one chestnut stallion with the sweetest legs and most curious nose. Several times, he came to Genevieve, poking at her tablet, sniffling through her things, mostly Genevieve’s hair. When Genevieve attempted to eat her apple, the horse suddenly became her best friend. After two bites and constantly pushing the assertive equine away, Genevieve finally gave up and gave him what was left of the apple. Temporarily satisfied, the stallion wandered off, munching contentedly.

“He’s beautiful,” Genevieve murmured to her rather easy-going guard dog. “Does he have a name?” 

“Don’t remember wot he’s named.” Joffrey replied.

Genevieve managed to get a few more words down. “Who owns him?”

“Sir Guy does.”

“Oh.”

Genevieve returned to work on her contract. There were flies, insects…

And that horse that belonged to Sir Guy wandered back and continued to pester her. In between the legal-ease and the nosy horse, Genevieve’s work went slowly but she wondered…

_What on earth did Sir Guy of Gisborne need with a stallion that obviously was NOT a warhorse?_

****

~~~…~~~ 

It had not been a good day. The Sheriff wanted a hanging and there was no one to hang. John’s emissary was pressuring Vaisey for money, the lost taxes. The Black Brotherhood also weighed heavily on the man’s mind. Guy spent the day shaking down people who had no money, for money.

How had he come to this? This wasn’t what he expected, planned. But since when did his life work out as planned? He _was_ a knight - granted a Black Knight – but landed now, property, had a family title. He should have been married by now, married to _her._ There should be children; she should be ripe, ripe with his heir…

_Should be._

He had wealth. Plenty to support a wife and family. He had a home, so longed for. He should be happy.

_Should be._

But he wasn’t. Not at all. There was no wife, no child, no heir, nothing to look forward to at night. 

Instead, he stood in front of what had been _her_ apartment, her rooms here at Nottingham. He hadn’t been in her dwelling, had avoided this wing since… since…since… 

_Since he had done the unspeakable, had committed the most heinous of crimes._  
  
Taking a deep breath, he reached out for the handle and opened the door. 

There was dust, so much dust and as he stepped into the room, it stirred up, swirling. And in that spot, where she let him hold her that one, precious time, it swirled into the shape of a woman.

_Please stay. Please stay and make this place bearable._

The motes settled, the shape…

_Without her, my world might as well turn to ash._

And like ash, the phantom dissipated and disappeared.

So, that much was true. His world right now had turned to ash and dust and unforgivable memories. And Guy of Gisborne was completely unsure on how to change it back to normal. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to change it, wasn’t sure if he wanted to even live. Death held a certain beauty, a certain allure.

_You know, Gisborne, Vaisey wants a hanging. Offer him your neck..._

_And what will happen to Genevieve?_

_Gisborne! What happened the last time you tried to save a woman? She made a fool idiot out of you!_

No. Right now, this minute…

He inhaled deeply and opened the trunk at the foot of the bed and was immediately assaulted by a residual scent; her unique smell. More memories assailed him and mentally, he pushed them aside. Folded neatly, were Marian’s things, those he hadn’t packed for her when they took her to the Holy Land. He recognized all of it – he had purchased them, felt obligated after burning her house down and everything she and her father owned with it. Genevieve was shorter than Marian and curvier. Perhaps however, these would fit. For not the first time, he wondered how Genevieve got here, why she was here, how long she was going to be here, was she a dream, a figment of his imagination. He slung the saddlebags on the bed.

He took the clothing out by the handful, laying it all next to the saddlebags. Strange, he could see each piece on Marian, ghosts, spirits of his memory. She wore this when she rode, this during the Count’s visit, when she wore those low-cut gowns. This, she wore when Winchester demanded her… when Hood kidnapped her and held her in a tree…

_You’re safe. You’re coming home with me. I’ve got you…_

“Ah Gisborne! Taking a trip down memory lane?”

Guy almost jumped. Almost. He had gotten very good at masking his emotions. Clenching his fist under the clothing, he continued to go through the garments, taking what would be necessary and putting aside that which would not be feasible. That would include that dress. However, on second thought… “No.” He moved the rejected clothing to the stack he would pack.

“You are into women’s clothing now? Or giving them to the poor?” Vaisey went to the other side of the bed, so he could see Guy’s reaction and a finger tapping his lip. “A clue. I don’t think so.” He wagged the digit.

Guy smirked and cocked an eyebrow. “I have an unexpected guest.” 

“Really?” The look on Vaisey’s face told Guy he already knew Guy had a guest. “A woman who would stay with you? Isn’t she the brave soul. ” 

Guy ignored the jab. Most definitely Vaisey knew. Guy wondered which one of his men told? “It is the strangest thing,” Guy continued to separate clothing, as if the sheriff said nothing. “We found her lying unconscious on the road yesterday, obviously robbed and left for dead.”

“What?” Vaisey didn’t know that part. “Was it Hood?”

“I suspect so.” Guy continued to work through the clothing. “Lady Genevieve has little but the clothes on her back.” _And not very much of those._

“Really? _Lady_ Genevieve?”

“Yes.”

“Interesting.” Vaisey watched as Guy began to tie up the things he had chosen. “Have you notified her next of kin? Her husband? Father? Sent a messenger?”

“She does not remember much, save her name.”

“Ah.” A finger went up. “Perhaps she is not a lady, but a peasant in disguise.”

Guy gave a slight smile. Here was where he was hoping to play on Vaisey’s weaknesses and he prayed he could pull it off. “She is educated. Well educated. She reads, she writes, and I suspect she can keep mathematical records.” 

The look on Vaisey’s face was remarkably disgusting, just as Guy hoped. “Educated? She has proven this?” 

“Yes.” _Do not ask me how._

“What a waste of money.”

Guy’s look of repugnance was black. He hoped his disgust with Vaisey would pass as disgust for the woman currently residing in his household. “Aye and not only that, she is opinionated and lets everyone know what she thinks.” Well, that was not a lie.

Vaisey looked as if he had eaten something sour. “How revolting.”

“She attempted to redirect my staff this morning, drank way too much wine last night and had a hangover, and-” Guy leaned forward with a snarl, “she talks incessantly. I cannot understand half of what she says nor does she shut up.” 

Vaisey was shaking his head mournfully. 

“I suspect her father or husband is glad to be rid of her. Or at least, happy of the peace and quiet.” He picked up the chosen garments and began to pack them into his saddlebags. He wanted to embellish the story; he couldn’t wait to get to leave his own manor this morning, she was ugly, stank of pig, her hair was cut short, showing clearly that she was disobedient, but Vaisey was already leaving Guy to his own devices. The less he said, the better.

“Then I suggest you keep her occupied and away from me!” He spun a pointed a finger. “Keep her out of Nottingham!” His finger froze. “You know, Gisborne, it is good if you get over Marian, but don’t forget what a woman is.” With that, he left the room, _‘Lepers, the lot,’_ echoing in the hall.

Guy retrieved more from the trunk, finding and setting aside her bag of soaps and scented oils, before finding a small, blackened chest in the bottom. It was the only thing that survived his angry torching of Marian’s house. Opening it, he found Marian’s jewelry. She had very little, save a few rings and… 

Her betrothal ring; the one he gave her. He had hopes and dreams when he had it made for her, such dreams. He first thought to take it, but then his eye caught something at the bottom of the chest. Reaching down into the depths, his fingers clasped the cool metal. 

The necklace was beautiful. It was plain, simple silver, but the links were even, perfectly matched. _This_ had gained him the one prize he thought worthy. It also cost him and cost him dearly. 

_When you left, I thought I ‘d lost you for good. Perhaps it would have been better if I had._

Perhaps, nothing. It would have been better. 

With much reverence, he put both the necklace and the jewelry casket back in the trunk. By rights, they were his and at some point, he would have to decide what to do with them. He closed the lid and he rose and once he placed the bag of toiletries into his carrier, he began to fasten the buckle on his saddlebag. 

Before he could finish, his sister sauntered into the room. Isabella was a stunning woman and she knew it. But she was also two-faced, would stab you in the back if she thought it would elevate her. 

“I heard you have a woman.” 

Guy ignored her, focusing on the buckles. “I have a guest.”

“She must be very stupid, very ugly, very lonely, or very desperate.”

Guy shouldered the bag and turned on his sister, looking down at her from his great height. She shrank, just a bit, which made him feel that much taller. “Very intelligent, very beautiful, has my armsman and my steward wrapped around her finger and very opinionated.” 

And with that parting shot, Guy left with his ghosts and demons and feeling rather smug. 

****

~~~…~~~ 

****

I’d love to try to set you free… 

****

~~~…~~~ 


	5. 04... does not envy

__

Manna from Heaven 

__

Chapter 04 

__

…does not envy 

When all was said and done, Genevieve was unhappy about the slowness of her work. Between Joffrey trying not to be obviously looking over her shoulder and Guy’s lonely horse putting his nose in the middle of everything, the only thing Genevieve had ‘translated’ so far was that she was selling her business for a tidy sum.

But she already knew that. 

What she didn’t have written guarantees of was what was going to happen to her employees, their retirements, and the stock she released quietly specifically to fill their pension plans with. Yes, there were verbal promises, assurances, but she wanted - and would - see it in writing. There was something… slimy and insincere about Al Ficklebutte. He just didn’t sit well with her. Every time he shook her hand, hell, every time she was in the same room with the man, she wanted to bathe afterwards.

As for a bath, she was definitely going to want one tonight. If a pot under a cutout slab of wood was what these people called a toilet around here, she wondered what they called a bath. 

Hopefully, not the pond in the middle of the village. She would scream.

And that would more than likely set her ‘generous’ host off completely.

Speaking of her host, she wondered if he would return, if he had returned and if he had, would he send someone out looking for her. Or perhaps, he would be relieved she was gone. She started to ask her watchdog if he knew the time, before remembering he wouldn’t have a watch on. And she hadn’t noticed a sundial anywhere in the town square.

“How do you tell the time around here?” Genevieve’s stomach was growling and she was hoping it was close to dinnertime. With an inner smirk, she thought it would be humorous if she didn’t wait dinner on Sir Guy, rather than the other way around.

“Sun position mostly.” Genevieve had to admit that Joffrey was not a bad sort. She could have had worse babysitter. “Although, it’s cloudy now. Looks like rain. Dunno wot time it is. Close to dinner, I figure.”

“Well then,” Genevieve gathered her things and stood up, “I suspect we’d best get back to the hall.” She waited until Joffrey stood up. “Hopefully, my room will be cleaned out and you can have your room back.” The two started back towards the town. “I thank you for the loan of the bed. I hope you had a place to lay your head and didn’t have to sleep in the barn.” 

Joffrey blushed at the unsuspected thanks. It wasn’t as if anyone ever thanked him for anything before and the fact that Sir Guy’s lady guest had thanked him for a room not fit for a lady made him feel really good. “It were no bother. No bother at all.”

As they left, they were both unaware that they were being watched.

****

~~~…~~~ 

John and Much stood deep in the trees, watching the goings on in the field.

“I don’t like it! Not at all.”

“Who do you think she is?” Much appeared most interested. “Friend or foe?”

“Who cares. She’s stayin’ with Gisborne,” John snarled. “She can’t be a friend.” 

“But she just showed up out of nowhere.” Much was chewing on a bone. “We’da seen her had she been on the road.” They continued to watch as the two picked their way to the edge of the field. “She sure is dressed funny.”

“Ain’t natural!” 

“Funnier than Djaq, actually.” Much’s voice dropped off in a whisper, causing John to strain to hear.

“Still, we’ll tell Robin when we get to camp. Someone here in Locksley will tell Robin what they know.”

****

~~~…~~~ 

Genevieve was getting better about dodging farm animal dung. Really, she thought to herself, after being raised in rural Kentucky, she should know better! Surely Atlanta City living hadn’t gleaned the country out of her! Perhaps, if she were lucky, she’d get to ditch the permanent guard. They managed to get back to the manse just as Sir Guy and his entourage were arriving from Nottingham. Feeling uncomfortable under the man’s gaze, she ducked her head and ran inside the Hall, hoping that her room was complete.

She met Eleanor coming down the stairs with a bundle of laundry. “Your rooms are finished, my lady,” she bobbed, making Genevieve feel even more uncomfortable. “I’ll bring up your bag when I finish with this,” she nodded once at the load of linens in her arms. Not wanting to bump into Guy, Genevieve nodded her thanks and hurried up the stairs. 

Her room, she supposed, was the one with the open door, almost across the hall from Guy’s chambers. Tiptoeing softly, listening to the noise outside and down in the hall, she stepped into her assigned quarters. 

Eleanor, for her youth, had done herself proud.

The furnishings were sparse; a neatly made bed, not meant for two, _(thank you, Jesus. I do not want anyone feeling welcome besides me! I don’t want to entertain anyone feeling welcome or me wanting to welcome…)_ a large fireplace which was the main focus of the room. There was a table and chair by the window, which held a view of the pasture Genevieve had spent the day in. Thin gauze hung from the window, blowing in the breeze, giving the room an airy feel, matching linen suspended in the rafters of the ceiling. There was a small nook in the corner that held hooks, a few suspending racks and the chamber pot. There was no privacy screen or door and a quick look showed there was no lock on her chamber door. Eleanor had tried to bring a feminine touch to the room. Several flagons were scattered about; on the table, the fireplace mantle, the nightstand, filled with cattails and late lavender. Upon closer inspection, Genevieve’s gym shorts and t-shirt, which she had slept in the night before had been laundered and were folded neatly on the bed. There was no dust and it was apparent the bed curtains had been freshly beaten. 

“I hope this will suffice.”

Genevieve jumped at the unexpected baritone voice. She turned around in time to see Guy drop his saddlebags on the bed. With the quick efficiency she was beginning to expect from him, he began to unbuckle the fastenings. “I understand one of the village boys insulted you this morning. If you will tell me who it was, I will take care of it.” 

 

“Don’t!” Genevieve gasped. “He’s just a boy, curious about what he didn’t know or understand.”

“Still I-”

“I was not insulted.” She watched as bright material began to make its way to the bed. She realized he had brought clothing, as he said. “Surely, you were a boy once, curious and into things.” 

“And had my ears boxed for it, many times,” Guy murmured. “I learned.” 

“Well, his mother boxed his, so you don’t need to!” She reached out to caress a swath of red. “Oh, that’s pretty.”

Guy smirked, continuing to unload the items. Sometimes, second thoughts were… worth it.

He continued in silence, Genevieve pulling things over, looking, inspecting. Her eyebrows went as high as they could go when the soaps and oils came out. She snatched those, putting her nose to gleefully inhale the floral scents. She heard a snort and looked up to see Sir Guy standing with his arms crossed, one hip cocked, watching her closely. “What?” 

He looked down, shaking his head. “It does a man good to see a woman who truly appreciates his gifts.” Although the tone was mocking, an attempt at light-heartedness, Genevieve sensed the hurt that was hidden deep within. 

Attempting to keep the mood elevated, Genevieve toasted up the soaps. “Well, here’s to not smelling like a pig-sty!” Seeing again that lop-sided smirk the man obviously called mirth, she continued. “So where is the tub in this place so a lady can take a bath on a regular basis?” 

The bags were now empty and Guy shouldered them. “End of the hall. Make sure you let Thornton know so water can be heated.” Genevieve’s face fell. “What?” 

“I forgot,” she whispered. “There is no indoor plumbing here.”

His head tipped, the question on his face. “Indoor plumbing?”

Genevieve shook her head, shame-faced. “Sorry. A luxury from home.”

“Ah.” With this, he backed up, heading towards the door. “Perhaps, I would like to hear more of this ‘home’ of yours and the luxuries you miss sometime.” The quiet steel-edged command was obvious. He _would_ hear about her home, pick her brain, ask a million questions and she doubted he would believe a word of it. And most likely he would do it tonight. For some reason, she felt it would be an interrogation of sorts. 

Eleanor chose that time to slide into the room, Genevieve’s bag in hand, She gave Sir Guy a wide berth, staring at the floor, before coming to stand next to Genevieve. “I will help you with the clothes, my lady. Put them away and such.” 

Guy looked at both, one cowering in… fear, the other, seeming to be… resigned to fate, whatever fate would bring her. “Dinner will be shortly. Dress appropriately.” The two females focused on the clothing on the bed, listening to his spurs click from the room and across the hall. They both exhaled at the same time.

“I believe,” Genevieve wheezed, moving to the door to shut it, “that I’m going to need your help choosing something and getting it on.” She picked up the red, noticing that Eleanor was nodding in agreement. “Let’s find a place for all of these and then decide what I should wear this evening for dinner.

****

~~~…~~~ 

Guy sat at the table, staring at an empty trencher, his fork and eating knife in each hand.

_Where was she?_

“Thornton, I tire of waiting.”

“She is a woman,” the man intoned gently. He motioned to a servant, who brought a pitcher of wine. “Sometimes, they take… time.” He stood before the table with his hands behind his back. “You brought her clothing?” When the drink arrived, he poured a goblet and set it in front of Guy. “No doubt, if she was anything like my wife, she would be trying everything on, to see what suits her best and has lost track of time.” He smiled sadly. “Or perhaps she wants to wear what she thinks would suit you best.”

Guy took a sip of the ale, before setting the goblet down angrily, causing the drink to splash and spill over the rim and onto the table as well as Guy's hand. “She should consider when eating would suit me best.” With that he stood up and stormed up the stairs, leaving the steward and the servant wringing their hands nervously.

He was quite noisy coming down the hall, his spurs still on. Surely, she would hear him coming. Standing outside of her door, he listened, hearing furious, fast-paced whispering. Knocking once, he opened the door and let himself in. 

“SIR GUY!”

“GEEEEZ! CAN’T A GIRL HAVE SOME PRIVACY?”

They were standing in the middle of the room, clothes strung everywhere and hanging from pretty much everything. They were struggling to get Genevieve into the red gown that Marian had worn when the Bavarian boobie was in Nottingham. The girl – Guy couldn’t remember her name – was behind Genevieve, fiddling with the lacings up the back of the bodice. Genevieve was bent over, hands on her breasts, looking as if she were trying to rearrange things. He leaned up against the bedpost, taking in the goings on and enjoying the shocked spectacle. 

He… twitched. 

“Is there a problem?” He looked at Genevieve’s hands in attempt to forget how long it had been since he had been with a woman, but that seemed to make his problem worse. “Are you afraid you will lose them?” She gasped at that, her jaw flapping in such a way, that Guy had to work to keep from laughing out loud. He nodded to her feet. “It appears to be a bit long.” 

She stood up at that, eyes narrowed. The dress pooled at her feet and the girl stepped back. “I’ve loosened it as much as possible, Lady Genevieve. I’m sorry.”

Genevieve looked down, her very generous curves squashed and mashed upwards. She smirked at Guy. “It’s a bit tight across the chest.”

“I see.”

Genevieve turned to the servant. “If you’ll see a bath started for me, I would be very appreciative. I’ll dump the water, so you don’t have to stay and it won’t be stagnant when you arrive in the morning.”

“There is a plug with a drain pipe, my lady,” she whispered. “Just pull it. There is a drain to release the water behind the manse. We are not so very backwards.” She leaned in closer, looking at the lord of the manor as if he were an evil demon. “I’ll put away your clothes, so you’ll not keep Sir Guy waiting.”

Guy stood away from the bed and extended his elbow. “M’lady? Dinner is getting cold.”

Genevieve tucked her hand in and looked up at him. “If you look down my blouse-”

“They are hard to miss.” Guy was immediately halted when Genevieve dug in her heels. “Obviously,” he put his other hand over hers and yanked her along, “we will need to make other arrangements to clothe you properly.”

“These will suffice,” she said stiffly. 

“No, they will not.” 

She continued as if he had said nothing. “Please give my thanks to the woman who loaned them to me.”

“She will not miss them,” he ground out between clenched teeth. He cut off her retort. “Do not argue.” 

Genevieve slammed her mouth shut at the imperious tone of voice. She would never allow anyone to speak to her in this manner, not even The Gator! 

“Whether she misses them or not, I would appreciate it if you would at least thank her-”

“Genevieve!” He looked down at her with such severity and dark anger and…

_There._ Had she not been looking closely, she would have missed it. Deep inside and for just a split second, there was such… pain… and anguish. 

_Someone hurt him._

The thought stopped her, brought her ever-moving mind to a complete standstill.

_Someone hurt him._

Somewhere, someone managed to get through this man’s hard, solid exterior and damaged something fragile inside. Who? What? How long ago?

“M’lady?”

Genevieve snapped out of her morose inner musings to see they stood next to the chair apparently deemed as hers. Sir Guy had pulled it out and was gesturing for her to take her seat. “Oh.” She dipped her head, blushing. “Thank you.” She sat down, allowing him to push the chair under the table. While watching him get situated, she wondered if whoever hurt him was the reason he was so removed and remote.

And if he would ever allow anyone near to him again.

****

~~~…~~~ 

Dinner, she had to admit, was excellent. Coming from a time of frozen meat, canned vegetables, and processed and microwavable food, she suddenly realized that she missed her grandmother’s farm and straight-up cooking, the wonder of the meal during harvest and mostly, homemade bread with fresh-churned butter. The poultry, Thornton proudly informed her, was pheasant and was his wife’s recipe.

Genevieve didn’t look up from her plate. She was aware Guy wasn’t looking up from his either. It was as if he’d not eaten all day. “Well, if this is how she cooks all the time, you should be as wide as you are tall, Thornton!”

“My wife is deceased,” he said quietly.

“Oh.” This put a damper on Genevieve’s mood. “I am sorry.”

The man smiled slightly before continuing. “Eleanor tells us you wish to bathe this evening, Lady Genevieve. We have lit a fire in the fireplace in the bath upstairs and are taking water to be heated. When you are ready, let me know and we will begin heating the water for your bath.” With this he ducked his head and removed himself to stand in the shadows, waiting in case either needed anything.

The meal progressed silently, the only sound being that of breaking bones and the clink of tableware. From the side of her eye, Genevieve watched as the knight beside her drank heavily. The ale was yeasty, but not fermented enough to cause much of a buzz. 

As her hunger was alleviated, she took in her surroundings, the wall hangings, and the furnishings of the hall.

“Something has caught your interest?” Guy was watching her closely, a slight grin on his face.

“Your bachelor pad.” Confusion crossed his features. It dawned on her that what she was about to say would go completely over the knight’s head and that amused her. “Your home. This... hall. This place looks like a medieval Georgia Tech frat house,” she said with a grin. She toasted him. “Go Ramblin' Wreck! Cheers!”

With that, she returned to her inner musings and her plate. The boy did know how to put out a nice meal. Or at least, his servants did.

“Why is your hair short?” 

The question came from nowhere, startled Genevieve from her own quiet thoughts; thoughts of her business, her employees, Lamar. For the first time, she wondered how badly injured she must be and if all this was simply a coma-induced dream or if she were really dead. Her thoughts scattered like water thrown against a rock. “What?”

Guy had pushed back from the table and was facing her with one long, leather clad leg slung over the arm of the chair he was seated in, his goblet dangling dangerously from his fingertips. “Why is your hair short? Who did you displease? Is that why you were running away?”

Self-consciously, her hand went to her shoulder-length cut. “I didn’t displease anyone. Why would you think something that ridiculous?” 

Guy lifted his cup, staring at her with interest. Drinking deeply, he finally set it down, a servant scurrying to refill it. “A woman’s hair is her glory, her pride.” Genevieve’s jaw dropped in disgust at the chauvinistic attitude. “It is cut when she is being punished, when she has displeased her father or husband. Or lord.” Finally, he dropped his eyes, picking up his newly filled goblet and looking at the contents in sorrow. “It is a humiliating experience for the woman if the shorning is public.” The last was whispered, the sound captured and caressed by the pewter grasped in the knight’s hand. 

Guy was suddenly aware he was being stared at with such malevolence that it raised the very hackles on the back of his neck. “I have no husband or father to tell me what I can and cannot do!” Genevieve spat. “I own a multi-million dollar business, am respected in my community and field. I have clients from all over the…continent who seek out my advice. I own my own home and take care of myself without a man’s help! I do as I please!” She inhaled deeply, in anger, causing the seams of her corset to strain even further. “ _I_ cut my hair so that is easier to keep neat and takes me less time to groom. It is a convenience for me!” She looked up and into the shadows. Finding Thornton, she jutted her chin at him. “Kind sir,” she said now loudly, “I would be ever so grateful and thankful if you would begin heating the water for my bath. I will be in my room.” She stood up, leaning over the table. “Dinner was lovely. It is regrettable that the company wasn’t, but I won’t hold you responsible!”

Unconsciously, she grabbed her empty goblet, and attempted a graceful exit. Unfortunately, she tripped twice before growling and pulling the front of her dress up, exposing ankles and shins and the oddest footwear Guy had ever seen. 

Guy watched as she stormed up the stairs and waited until her stomping faded down the upper hallway, smirking with much amusement. “Respected, a landowner, and wealthy.” He toasted the servant who was clearing Genevieve’s plate. “But yet she is here, with little to recommend her, and no one seems to be clamoring to claim her. Not her company, her peasants or her… clients, whatever that is. ” He drank yet again deeply and set the goblet down. “What do you think?”

“I… uhm… think she needs a husband,” the servant stuttered. He turned with the table items and scurried to the kitchen.

“A husband. Aye.” Eying the pitcher of ale, he snarled and rose from the table. “Poor sot.” With that, he wandered from the hall, in search of the barn to calm himself and perhaps a game of cards with some of his men before retiring with a bottle of wine.

Upon his return from the barn, it began to rain, a cold, long, soaking drizzle that would last for two days.

****

~~~…~~~ 

Genevieve leaned back into the old-fashioned (to her) tub and sighed in contentment. The only thing that was missing were bubbles and soft music, but this, the mist rising over her head, was glorious. She washed her hair first, before the tub filled up with dirt and sweat accrued from the day. Once that was taken care of, she uncorked one of the bottles of oil and after smelling it, spilled several generous drops into the water, the scent of lavender rising in the steamy air. She looked at the rash on her inner arm, scratching at it. At least, when she got back, she could have this damn implant removed! No need to suffer if she wasn’t having sex! The conversation from earlier replayed itself and infuriating her again, causing her to growl irritably.

“M’lady?” Eleanor’s voice interrupted Genevieve’s angry musings. She set a small flagon down on the shelf next to the tub. “I brought you some wine. I thought it might ease your nerves.”

Genevieve cocked an eyebrow, before leaning over to fill the empty goblet she accidentally brought up with her. “Thank you.” She took a sip of the wine, yet again, finding it very good. “He doesn’t stint on the alcohol, does he?”

“My lady?” Clearly the girl was confused. 

“The wine.” Genevieve raised her goblet. “He stocks good wine.”

“I don’t know, my lady. I’ve not had any.” Genevieve could hear the girl behind her, picking her clothes off the chair. “Oh dear. The seams are pulled.” The girl tsked to herself. 

“Great,” Genevieve growled at herself. “Whoever loaned them to me will hate me.” She heard Eleanor gasp slightly. Curiosity and Sir Guy’s reticence got the best of her “Eleanor?”

“Yes, my lady?” 

“I’m going to ask you a question and I want you to answer me.”

“Yes?”

She took another sip of the wine. “Do you know whose clothing has been loaned to me? I’ve asked Sir Guy so I could thank her and he’s refused to tell me who she is.” Even though the girl was standing behind her so she couldn’t see her, Genevieve could feel her reluctance. “Eleanor?” 

“I am not certain, but I believe they belonged to Lady Marian.” 

That name was familiar from Genevieve’s memory of old folk tales. But to the best of her knowledge, Lady Marian loved Robin Hood… who Guy claimed was the bane of his existence. She decided to play stupid. “Who is Lady Marian? His sister? A relative?”

“Oh no,” Eleanor breathed. “At one time, she was Sir Guy’s betrothed.” 

“At one time?” Genevieve’s interest was raised. She thought again. No. According to the legends and the folk tales - that silly Disney cartoon she watched as a child - Lady Marian loved Robin Hood. She made a moue with her mouth. _Same with that movie with Alan Rickman and Kevin Costner, although Rickman's Sheriff had Costner's Hood beat hands down in the hot department! In both, however, Marian lived and married Robin._

She idly wondered if Guy and Rickman's barber were one and the same...

_Well that's a stupid thought, chickee-poo!_

 

“Ma’am?” Eleanor suddenly appeared at the side of the tub, causing Genevieve to start and cover herself. She was kneeling, her hands on the side of the tub, pleading. “Please do not tell anyone I told you.” She waited for Genevieve’s nod. “There are those who say Sir Guy is a devil. A demon. He is a wicked man.” 

Genevieve was feeling a nice buzz. “Spawn of Satan." In her early stages of inebriation, Genevieve felt the girl was exaggerating. "It's all that black clothing.”

“Aye. But he loved Lady Marian. My cousin is a maid at Nottingham and she said Sir Guy danced attendance on Lady Marian; bent over backwards to gain her favor. Bought her gifts; jewelry, clothing, a horse…”

_I’ll bet I know who that beauty in the pasture really belongs to now…_

“Once,” the girl’s voice rose a bit, “Nottingham was under siege because the Sheriff disappeared. Prince John’s men were to raze it to the ground and kill everyone inside. Because Sir Guy is a Black Knight, he was to be allowed to depart the castle, but he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t leave Lady Marian and she refused to leave the people of Nottingham.” She lowered her head. “‘Tis said Sir Guy told Prince John’s man that his world would be ash and he would rather die at Lady Marian’s side than leave her.” 

Genevieve quickly sobered up. “What happened?”

“The Sheriff returned just in time. He was in a right fury, my cousin said.” 

Genevieve leaned back against the tub. For some strange reason, her heart sank, knowing her host was engaged and in love with another woman. This Lady Marian must be furious a woman was living with her fiancé. 

“I should like to thank her for the loan of the clothes. I suppose I should find another place to live. I, for one, would be very angry if my fiancé was living with another woman, regardless of the circumstances.” 

“My lady, she is dead. She died some months ago.” This brought Genevieve up with a start. 

_She will not miss them…_

No wonder he looked so grief-stricken. The woman was probably the only thing on this earth that made him human…

Eleanor swallowed and whispered in a voice so low, Genevieve could barely hear her, even though she was less than a foot from her ear. “He went insane after she was murdered. Raged like a lunatic. ” The girl licked her lips. “He went to Prince John for some months. We all thought he was dead, but he returned a few weeks back. Now he’s more ruthless, darker. Scarier.” She took a breath. 

“Lady Marian was murdered?” Genevieve’s heart sank. “I imagine he is grief-stricken.” 

Before Eleanor could answer, the echo of spurs could be heard coming up the stairs. They approached the bath room door and stopped briefly, before continuing on. 

“I’ve said too much. Please keep this between us.” Eleanor jumped up and left the room with her clothing, which left Genevieve in a quandary. 

She had no change of clothes with her after her bath. 

****

~~~…~~~ 

So, she waited until the upstairs was quiet. When all was silent, she opened the door just a hair. She could hear a few of the guards down in the guardroom off the main hall. They were loud, boisterous, obviously playing a game of sorts. Sticking her head out of the doorway, she looked both ways and seeing no one, tip-toed out of the bath room.

She was clad in only a long towel. Quietly, she crept down the hallway, her hand clutching the back together and her other hand, holding the top up and grimacing when she heard the floor squeak. She passed Sir Guy’s room, the door open and as she slid past, she saw him, his back to her as he perused something on the table. For a moment, she stopped, appreciated that his rear view was as pleasing as his front before scurrying on. As she slid into her room, closing the door behind her, she was oblivious that Gisborne was aware of her presence, her momentary pause by his door and thanks to the mirror on the wall next to the table, he was observant of her lack of clothing. He smiled down at the things on his desk, knowing she would be back and more than likely bring a storm to rival the one outdoors with her. 

The moment she reached her room, she jumped on the rug. The floor was cold and the floorboards were rough. She took a few minutes to rub down, warm up, even though there was a fire in the fireplace. She shook her head, attempting to erase the image of the knight from her mind. Without his heavily padded and mailed jacket and clad in a black poet's shirt, (that personally, she wanted for herself!) the true width of his shoulders and the broadness of his back, left little to the imagination. Remembering there was no dresser, she eventually went into the small chamber where the clothing racks and wardrobe were.

Eleanor was much neater than Genevieve and she wondered if she’d be allowed to take the girl back to the future with her. The minute that thought crossed her mind, it made her giggle. No doubt, she was in a coma and this was a dream or worse, she _was_ dead and this was hell. And her dream about her conversation with Val was just that… a dream! 

Well if this was hell, it was tolerable. 

She looked over at the chamber pot in corner.

Some things are NOT tolerable. The poor excuse for the toilets was one - and by the way, where was she supposed to dump it? And Sir Guy of….

Genevieve stopped at that. Her host was excruciatingly tall, gorgeous, built like sex walking and stalked about like a graceful black panther she remembered seeing as a young child at the zoo. His hair was longish, the same length as hers with dark curls she wanted to wrap around her finger. He was multi-faceted, a pain in the ass, crude, rude, a male chauvinist pig and…

Genevieve smacked herself. His lady had been murdered and this was the twelfth century where attitudes and expectations and customs and culture were different. He didn't have to take her in at all, much less treat her like an honored guest! 

_I should just keep my head down and work on that contract._

Her purple underwear was clean and folded on the shelf in the wardrobe, along with her gym shorts and workout tee. Throwing them on, along with her aerobic shoes , she decided the light was too dim for more contract work, so best just dig out her iPad and read a book. 

Except going through the shelves, everything showed the iPad wasn’t anywhere in the room. 

In fact, her gym bag was gone. The only thing she had was her clothes…

She remember that man was looking at something on his table…

_That bastard!_

She threw open her door and stormed across the hall.

Completely missing the fact that a box of Kleenex had materialized next to her chamber pot.

****

~~~…~~~ 

“Where is it, dammit?”

Both of Guy’s eyebrows went up in tandem with his smirk. “My lady, your language is most colorful.”

“Yeah, yeah about my language! Sorry to offend your tender ears!” His back was still facing the woman and he watched her find the gym bag through the reflection in his mirror. But…

“Interesting statement in clothing, Lady Genevieve.” He turned to peruse her form. “Might I suggest you not venture downstairs dressed like that.” He tilted his head. “My men are not gentlemen and quite frankly,” he pursed his lips and licked them, “I am not so sure I wish to be one, either.”

She turned to face the bag on the bed. Throwing the zipper open, she began to toss the things spread out over the bed into it – her iPhone, the iPad, the pens, pencils, her sketchpad, her make up...

“I did not intend to leave my room this evening,” she spat tersely between clenched teeth. “In fact, I wouldn’t have had I not had to come and hunt my belongings!” She tossed the last of the items into the bag. “I appear to be missing a few things…”

“I have them.”

She thrust her hand out. “Hand them over.”

“I do not think so.” She turned to him, stunned. “I might consider returning them… for a price?” He held up the folder with the contract, along with the notebook. With a well-practiced swagger, he dropped them on the bed next to her bag. He flipped open the folder, exposing the contract and then opened the spiral notebook, to her notes. “What are these things and what are you doing?” With a well-practiced stealth, he sidled up next to her, placed his arm around her shoulders and lightly rested his hand on her far shoulder. So riveted on the notebook in front of her, she seemed unaware that he held her against him.

Genevieve decided it wouldn’t hurt to tell him the truth. “As I stated, I own a multi-million dollar company. I’m an architect and my firm; my company designs and builds buildings of various shapes and sizes. This,” she tapped the contract, “is the contract or the Bill of Sale. They are going to give me a lot of money and I’m going to give them my company in exchange.”

“So, why do this?” Guy gestured towards the notebook, with Genevieve’s handwriting. “This,” he pointed to what she had written, “appears to be what is on this,” he then pointed to the contract with his finger. While doing this, he pulled her closer to him, into the heat of his body. 

_This close, he could smell her, smell the scent of lavender, Her scent, on Genevieve's body..._

“It’s stupid to sign something you’ve not read. Once it’s signed, you can’t take it back or undo it. It’s legally binding.” Her nose twitched.

Guy agreed with this reasoning. The previous year, Vaisey put Guy and Marian through hell to get Winchester’s signature on the Black Brotherhood document, going so far as to allow Winchester – and Guy - to believe part of the deal was Marian. While it would have been nice if Vaisey had told him his plans to retrieve Marian and kill Winchester, he didn’t and truth was, even if he had, Guy didn’t trust him then and wouldn’t have believed him. 

And he didn’t trust him now. 

“The man who approached me – Al Ficklebutte – doesn’t strike me as being an ‘up and up’ man.” She took in Guy’s confused stare. “He doesn’t seem trust- worthy.” That, the man seemed to understand. “I mean, why would they put the contract in writing so small, one can barely read it? They are pushing the sale through very, very quickly, not giving me a chance to even renegotiate the small details.” She turned back to the paper on the bed. “I have to think, ‘What are they hiding’?” 

“If they are going to pay you a lot of money, why should you worry?”

“Because, I have employees.” With this, she scooted the contract over in front of her. “I have 48 people who work for me. They count on me to make sure they have work, healthcare, that they can provide for their families." 

“But if you sell the firm,” Guy began slowly, almost thoughtfully, “why should you be concerned? They are no longer your responsibility.”

“That’s the problem, Guy.” Genevieve laid the contract down and wandered towards the window. It was shut, the air stuffy and despite the pouring rain and almost darkness, she opened it, standing in front and basking in the breeze. “My employees are loyal to me because I have been loyal to them.” 

Guy dipped his head in agreement. People did respond to loyalty. Sometimes earned, sometimes not.

Not, when it came to Vaisey. Vaisey expected it, which was why Guy was now secretly loyal to John, even though the prince was no improvement. If anything, he was an even more unstable overlord. 

“I have verbal promises that they will continue to be employed. But for some reason, I don’t trust them.” She shivered, either from her thoughts or the cool, wet air, Guy didn’t know. When she turned around to face him, he could not only see the goose bumps on her arms, but her nipples, which were delightfully perky and large, clearly seen through her thin shirt. “My people trust me to watch out for them, watch over them, to make sue they will still have work, a livelihood. That must continue after I sell the company. I want to see that promise in writing.” Suddenly aware of the ‘show’ she was giving the man, she crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t trust them,” she reiterated. “Have you ever dealt with someone you didn’t trust?” 

“Every. Day.”

With a graceful motion, the man pulled her even closer, taking her in his arms. Genevieve inhaled sharply, looking up into the storm that grasped her firmly. She discovered his eyes weren’t grey at all, but blue, like the summer sky, ringed with black eyelashes she would have paid good money to have herself. As he lowered his mouth, she prepared herself for an amorous assault that deep inside on a physical and hormonal level, she actually craved. But rather than claim her mouth, he instead grazed her cheek, in front of her ear. It was like being teased, caressed by a butterfly, a gentleness wholly unexpected from this giant of a man. The hand that rested on her shoulder moved to her waist and clasped her to him, while his other hand cupped the other side of her face, long fingers splayed from her chin to the outer shell of her ear. As his lips moved forward towards her eye, her knees trembled, refused to support her body and it occurred to her the only reason she managed to stand was because the knight held her in a tight embrace. 

“Your hair is dripping, my lady,” he whispered. “And if you do not return to your room immediately, I will be tempted to continue this.” Slowly, he turned her loose, taking satisfaction in watching her knees buckle. The moment Genevieve regained her balance, she bolted around him and shot to the door.

“Your bag?” Guy turned his back to her, speaking over his shoulder. His clothing was making life as difficult for him as Genevieve’s was for her. “Unless you wish for an excuse for me to join you.” The bag was whisked off the bed and the door thrown back, causing the knight to chuckle mirthlessly. As he heard Genevieve’s door slam shut, his finger traced his lip where traces of the water drops he lifted from her face lingered. He wished he had said nothing, simply dried all of her with his tongue…

He shook his head, furiously. No. The last thing he wanted, needed was to get involved with her. Best he found out where she belonged and if she continued to plague him in this manner, perhaps it would be paramount if he sent her to Ripley Convent. 

No. That was an even worse idea. The nuns took a vow of silence, something he didn’t think Genevieve was capable of. Marian certainly hadn’t been. That was why he questioned Allan on if she had actually gone or not… 

_But Hood kidnapped her and held her in a tree… how did Hood get Marian that high up in the tree without help… or without her cooperation?_

_She had lied to him before, about other things. Perhaps, she lied about that as well?_

_Why do I dwell on this? I have other things to tend to… to worry about…_

Right now, Genevieve was safest here, in Locksley, in his Hall. He could watch her best here, protect her best…

And why did that matter? 

And what was that rash of raised skin his fingers grazed on the inside of her upper arm?

****

~~~…~~~ 

Genevieve slammed the door and thinking quickly, grabbed a chair and propped it under the turning latch. Every nerve ending in her body was on fire and her biggest fear was if that man followed her across the hall, would she let him in or not? She probably would. Shaking, she backed away from the door, listening, straining to hear if he followed her.

The fire in the fireplace was low and she threw another log on as the night held the promise of a chill. 

In a fit, she threw the gym bag on the table and extracted everything in it. She continued to remove item after item even after she laid her iPad aside. 

“Damn!”

The one item she wanted, needed, wasn’t there. So rather than take the lit lamp to the small table next to her bed so she could read, instead, she blew it out, climbed under the covers and thrusting her hands between her legs, took care of business like she had had to for some months. 

It didn’t dawn on her than unlike home, she was not alone.

And that she could be heard outside of her room. And into the hall.

Where one dark knight stood outside her door and listened with amusement. 

And equal need.

When she finished, she was in tears, sobbing her continued frustration. She was not fantasizing about Lamar, but instead of a tall, dark knight, with the sweetest mouth.

And he knew it.

_**~~~…~~~**_  


The card game did not last long that night, much to Guy’s dissatisfaction. After a few hands, the others wandered off to posts and beds, leaving Guy with Joffrey. Of all of his personal guards, Guy trusted Joffrey the most. He had been with Guy for some time, working his way up, staying out of trouble. The previous evening, he spent the night with a young widow he had been seeing for a time. He knew where his man was all night. Gisborne was finishing off his first bottle of wine.

“Lady Genevieve was grateful for the use of your room last eve.”

“Aye.” Joffrey eyeballed the bottle, not ever recalling Sir Guy to share. “She thanked me.”

“Did she?” For some reason, this pleased him. As unconventional as his guest was, she was gracious - unlike his sister, who wore out her welcome within a day. “Good.” He drained his chalice and uncorked a second bottle. Feeling gracious, he motioned to his man, taking his goblet and filling it. “I need you to do me a favor. A quiet favor.”

Joffrey picked up the cup, squashing the desire to down the liquid in one gulp, instead forcing himself to savor it, like he had seen the lords and ladies at the castle do. Unbeknownst to him, this act amused Gisborne. He saw himself in the young guard. “Wot you need?”

“You report to me and speak nothing of this.” He folded his hands and leaned back into his chair. “I know your widow’s secret.”

Startled, Joffrey looked up, horror on his face. His ‘widow’ was in truth the daughter of the healer who had been dunked by the Sheriff for witchcraft. She practiced her mother’s ways and not only was Joffrey in love with her; he adored the woman’s baby as well. He planned to marry her if he could ever procure a place of his own, dreamed of obtaining knighthood. “Sir Guy, I am _your_ man, head of your guard…”

“We have a spy.” Gisborne sat back, a leg thrown over the armrest of the chair. “A spy among us who talks to the sheriff. I want to find out who he is.” He swirled the wine in his goblet, watching the light from the candles flicker in its depths.

“Should I kill him?” Ah, this one was hungry, just as hungry as Gisborne was at his age. For not the first time, Guy wondered how different things would have turned out if he had not attached himself to Vaisey, but to a more rooted, more respectable lord.

_Probably not gone far. More than likely, still a guard and still sleeping in a bunkhouse. Considering the number of lords willing to overthrow Richard in favor of John, finding a more respectable lord would not have happened._

“No. Find out who he is and become his friend.” Finally, he lifted the pewter to his lips. “If we know who is talking to the sheriff, we can… manipulate, as well as control that information. Besides,” with this, Guy began to slowly swing his elevated foot, “if we get rid of him, the Sheriff will only find another informant. We cannot kill them all.” With this, Gisborne stood up, grabbing the wine bottle and willing the room to not move. “Do a good job, Joffrey, and I’ll ensure that the extra money you need to procure your knighthood becomes available.” In that promise, he ensured Joffrey would do as he bid.

With that, he left the room, grabbing a third bottle, even though he had just opened the second, and stumbled up the stairs, drinking directly from it. He stopped for a moment in front of Genevieve’s room and hearing nothing, he lurched across the hall to his own and shut the door, prepared to drink himself into oblivion. 

Joffrey waited until he heard Sir Guy’s door close before getting up and reaching for the knight’s left behind goblet. There was still wine left in the chalice and certain he wouldn’t return for it, Joffrey poured it into his own before taking it into his room and retiring for the night. 

__

~~~…~~~ 

__

‘E’ is for the Ecstasy 

__

~~~…~~~ 

_A/N - As this fic moves along, it should be clear that I am including the events that happened later in the series and considering it common knowledge between the canon characters - specifically Guy's, Isabella's and Robin's shared past when they were children._


	6. 05 - Love does not boast

****

Manna from Heaven 

****

Chapter 05 

****

Love Does Not Boast 

By the time Genevieve made it down to breakfast, Guy had already broken his fast and was gone. In this, she was glad as she wasn't sure if she could face the man this morning.

"Good morning, Lady Genevieve." Thornton was hovering. Hovering well, but hovering, none-the-less. "How did you sleep last night?"

Genevieve realized he was trying to ask her if she needed something in her morning mead for a possible hangover. "Better than I did the night before. Thank you." 

The man smiled at that. "I have something for you." He nodded and a young servant brought out a platter of eggs and sausage. 

A huge grin split Genevieve's face and picking up the fork left at her place, she dug in. "You are a wonderful man, Thornton, and I thank you! If that man doesn't tell you enough, I will!" 

Thornton smiled and continued to nod. "If you are pleased, then that is thanks enough." After watching her for a few moments, his smile faltered a bit. "Were the clothes Sir Guy brought you, not to your liking?" 

Genevieve kept chewing to keep from swallowing too large a piece of sausage. She was dressed back in her jeans and her tunic. "The clothes were beautiful, Thornton." She felt her face heat up in a blush. "They did not fit. I'm too fat." 

"I would not say that."

Genevieve waved her fork with a tidbit of sausage speared on the prongs. "You are a wise man NOT to say that. But I can." She shoved the piece in her mouth. 

"I think perhaps you are being self-deprecating." 

"Ah fink yew aar bein' kindk." Genevieve was focusing on the trencher before her, her mouth full as she talked. She saw Thornton opening his mouth to respond and swallowing hard, she cut him off. "Let's just say, I'm more... curvy."

The man rocked back on his heels, his hands tucked behind his back. "Curvy. That will suffice." The two of them smiled, sharing a quiet, private joke. 

She scooped up some of the eggs, finding the young servant standing in the gloom. With a wave of her fork, she called him over. "Do you have a name?" 

"Godric, my lady." 

For a moment, Genevieve considered telling the servants to dispense with the 'my lady' stuff while Sir Guy was gone, but on second thought, it might fuel rumors that she wasn't and then what would happen? "Well, Godric. Here is a word of advice for you. Never," and with this, she thrust her empty fork at the boy and nailed him with a steely gaze, "tell a girl or a woman she is fat. Got it?" 

"Got wot?" 

Thornton's eyes closed in despair, as Genevieve stared at the boy completely flabbergasted. She shook her head and tried again. "Do not tell a girl or a woman she is fat. Do you understand?" 

He brightened at that. "Yes, my lady. I understand completely." 

"Good." 

The rest of the meal continued silently, Genevieve growing more than slightly ill at ease over the fact that Thornton, Godric, and Joffrey stood and danced attendance on her, anticipating every whim. It was a strange and uncomfortable feeling. When she finished, she arose from the table, Joffrey grabbing the heavy chair in time before she tipped it over. 

"Was the bath to your liking, last eve?" 

The question caught her off guard. "Yes. Yes it was." She stopped for a moment, before continuing. "Thornton, is it a... hassle..." she stopped at his look of confusion, "... is it inconvenient to carry all of that water up to the bath room?" 

"No, my lady." The steward looked almost offended. "Whatever you or Sir Guy desire is not inconvenient at all." 

"You are sure?"

The man looked positively uncomfortable. "Yes, my lady." 

"Okay." She turned to go upstairs and retrieve her contract and notebook.

"Would you like a bath this evening after dinner again?" 

"Yes, I would." It was out of her mouth before she realized it. 

"Very good."

~~~...~~~ 

The sky was overcast, the air heavy with unshed rain, despite the deluge of the evening before. The ground was heavily puddled and Genevieve quickly came to the conclusion that working in the pasture was completely out of the question. For some minutes, she stood at the main door, watching the rolling clouds, deep in her thoughts. She finally decided to find the brightest spot in the house, roamed it freely, sticking her nose everywhere.

Much to her displeasure, she discovered that the best light was in the master bedroom - Guy's room. She stood in the doorway, contemplating moving the table to the window, before she smacked herself. 

This was *his* room! She would have a complete conniption if someone used her office as callously as she was planning on using his room. Yes, by sitting in front of the window, she would see him coming, but still. It was a privacy... a personal space issue. Turning from the doorway, something in the floor caught her eye. 

Two empty wine bottles, both lying on their sides. Tip-toeing in, she leaned over and picked them up. 

"I'll take those, my lady." Joffrey stood behind her, his hand out. Without a word, Genevieve handed them over. Joffrey nodded his thanks and turned.

"Does he do this often? Drink himself into a stupor?"

The guard's look fell in shame. "Every night," he whispered. "He has... demons who won't let him rest." He exhaled loudly. "It's the only way he sleeps."

"He'll kill himself, drinking like this."

Joffrey shrugged. "I think it would be a release to him. To die." With that, the man backed from the room, his boot falls echoing down the hallway, leaving Genevieve with conflicting, unanswered thoughts. She stared at the bed, the quilt slept on top of. Even with the window open, the cool, fall air drifting in, the room held a heavy aroma of leather and man. The Man. Mixed in the air was scent of wine, horse, sweat. Genevieve shook her head before following the guard back into the hall, but going to her room. 

The light was not so great, here in the back of the house. It was shaded by a tree and while recognizing she would have a headache before it was over, Genevieve dragged the table in front of the opening and retrieved the folder and notebook from her bag. 

Part of her - that anal, everything has its place, its shelf, its drop file - wanted to leave things out, find a place for everything, but she worried that if she had to leave in a hurry, if this place became stifling or worse, a sort of prison, she would be in a quandary. It would take longer if she had to throw things in her bag, retrieve them from various places. So here in the bag, everything stayed. 

Well, not _everything._ Some of her things were missing, taken by That Man, and probably hidden in his room. She had a mind to march back in there and go through his things until she found them. 

But she was afraid of what she might find. 

_Instruments of torture, shackles, body parts...shrunken heads..._

She shook her head. How stupid. The man was a Neanderthal, no doubt about that, but he was still human. 

With another shake, she sat down at the table with her things and opened up the folder with the contract. Reading through her notes again, she recalled that in several places, the contract referred to an 'Addendum A'. Flipping back and forth, going through the document, she realized that she didn't have 'Addendum A'...

_Strange. Val normally didn't forget things like that. Perhaps Addendum A came later; or... wait..._

There was a sticky note attached to the rear of the folder. She peered closely at it. 

_Addendum to contract sent to lawyer by Ficklebutt. Call Stallop for the original._

The handwriting was not in Val's neat hand. This meant the addendum was sent after the fact and not to her. Seeing how it was stickied to the back of the folder, chances were likely Val hadn't seen it either.

_Oh shit._

This revelation caused Genevieve to stand up and pace the floor. She needed that addendum. The contract in itself was straight-forward, but it mentioned an addendum with additional concessions and conditions...

...or stipulations. 

Stipulations could make or break a deal. Somehow in this case, she had a feeling it was a break situation. Why would they not send it to her; instead go straight to her attorney. And why didn't George say something?

Unless George was so preoccupied with his wife's health.

_If they mess with my employees..._

Genevieve had an extreme soft-spot for her employees. Renee, her secretary, was a single parent, with a special needs daughter and an ex who was a dead-beat dad. She wanted to return to college, get a degree in marketing, make a better life for herself and her daughter. Brad, one of her most promising architects, was putting a younger sister through college because their parents couldn't afford it. Tracy, another young architect was fresh out of college and raising her two younger sisters. 

Bradley was simply fighting to stay sober. Several tours of duty in the Mid-East left him with PTSD and there were times... she and Val worked overtime to keep him busy. Both watched the front door every morning, holding their breath until he came in. Both were convinced he had more than a drinking problem, but he showed up to work, on time, every day, disheveled more days than not, but in command of his facilities. Genevieve made sure the insurance the company carried and offered her employees would take care of a lot of needs, whether it be medical or psychological. She might be selling the company, but by God, her employees were going to keep their benefits!

She needed that addendum... but...

Genevieve snapped her fingers - the iPad! George's secretary had emailed the contract to her and she downloaded it on her iPad. Perhaps...

Running back to the bed where her bag was sitting, she rifled through it, finding the electronic. Turning it on, she scrolled through her downloads and found it. Flipping through the pages, she found the - 

_YES!_

\- addendum. The font was excruciatingly small and when she enlarged it, she came on the same problem. The attachment was a photocopy and making it larger blurred the words. 

_Shit!_

There was no choice, no hope for it. Genevieve simply prayed that the battery would last long enough for her to a) write it down, word for word and b) transcribe it into something understandable. She sat back down at the table, realizing this was going to take longer, scrolling back and forth and being unable to use the magnifying ruler on it. She knew magnets ruined a computer monitor; she had no clue about the iPad and as the magnifying ruler had a magnet across the bottom, she wasn't going to take a chance. 

_Oh please let the battery last. Please._

Squinting in the dim light, she began to transcribe the tiny legal document. 

_Addendum A: Whereas upon the completion of the sale, the buyer will take control the stock released..._

Genevieve sat back at that. Ficklebutt will take control of the stock? Stock? The released stock? How did they find out about the stock? Were they talking about her personal stock or the stock she used to pad her employees retirement packages? That was a private release, on a small scale, specifically for her employees retirement packages. It wasn't supposed to be bought up by anyone. If Ficklebutt controls the stock, that's another way of saying, they were taking the stock from the packages, thereby devaluing the packages themselves. 

Oh hell to the no!

For not the first time, Genevieve wanted to smack herself in the head. Early in their relationship, she asked Lamar why contracts and documents were in legalese. He laughed at her and informed her that was how lawyers stay in business. 

_Funny. When I had legal questions, even benign ones, he brushed me off. When George didn't return my calls, didn't get back to me, Lamar brushed them off._

_He brushed me off a lot._

_He laughed at me a lot. Not with me._

_At me._

For the first time in ages, Genevieve's adoration of her now-former, or in the future former boyfriend, began to wane and wax into a fury. Forcing herself to focus on the task at hand, she returned to her iPad and continued to transcribe. 

_Whereas upon the completion of the sale, the buyer will take control of the stock released and held by the seller..._

Genevieve jumped up, knocking her chair over. "What? My stock? MY STOCK???" She was screaming and her voice carried through the house. Thornton came from the kitchen, Joffrey joined him in the hall and Eleanor stepped into the doorway where she had been cleaning Guy's room. "OH FUCKING HELL to the NO!!!!"

"Miss?" Eleanor now stood in Genevieve's doorway, quite pale and obviously shaken at Genevieve's outburst. Both females could hear boot falls coming up the stairs. "Is anything amiss?" 

Genevieve nodded towards the hallway behind the servant girl. "Please tell me that's not Sir Guy," she whispered. Joffrey's plain, but earnest face poked in over Eleanor's startled one. 

"Wot's wrong?" 

Genevieve suddenly felt very self-conscious. They needed to know as little as possible. "The paper I was working on," she nodded to Joffrey. "I've discovered some... disquieting information." Both heads tilted. Again, Genevieve berated herself internally. Dealing with a populace that was uneducated was going to be tiring. Guy was bad enough and he was somewhat educated for this time period she supposed. She picked up the folder and notebook both knew she had and dropped them on the table, covering the iPad. "Whoever wrote this was an idiot." 

"Oh." Both nodded sagely. 

"Yer a'right?" Joffrey wanted to make sure before he went back downstairs. 

"I'm fine. For now." She tried to look ashamed and was probably doing a bad job of it. "I apologize for my language and for scaring the two of you. This," she spread her hands in supplication, "will probably happen a lot." 

Joffrey appeared appeased, but Eleanor hung in the door for a moment. 

"Ma'am?" 

"Yes, Eleanor?" 

"I... know you're not from here, but I'm sure Father Thomas will hear your confession... with your... language and all." 

Genevieve bit back a retort. In the back of her mind, bits of information long forgotten from history classes from high school and college were trying to force their way forward. In the twelfth century in Western Europe, Catholicism was The Religion, The Faith. Martin Luther hadn't nailed his famous rants on the doors of the Catholic Church yet. Jews were not tolerated in many parts of the country. The Bible hadn't been translated. In fact, to even think about translating the Bible would be a cause of great concern to the clergy. To think freely or veer from anything The Church deemed important was considered blasphemy or heresy... to espouse in any way, shape, or form any other religion, faith was cause for execution.

_Best keep your mouth shut, girlfriend._

"Thank you. I'll think about that." Genevieve tried to be as gracious as possible.

Eleanor blushed, before dipping and walking out of the room. 

Genevieve sighed heavily and went back to the iPad and her notebook.

A low grade headache began to form behind her eyes.

~~~...~~~ 

Guy had a headache as well. Despite an entire pitcher of Thornton's magic mead, his hangover... hung over. For the first time, the knight began to seriously consider other ways of sleeping soundly and dreamlessly through the night. Last night, his demons returned with a vengeance, despite the amount of alcohol he had drunk. The nightmares never changed; always him ending up being chased by a vengeful Hood, who demanded his head, his life, his title, his lands, his wealth.

His heart.

For reasons obvious, Guy wished he could simply cut out that bothersome organ, lock it away. At some point soon, he was going to have to consider marriage, regardless of what Vaisey said. He had a title, lands, wealth and he wanted a legitimate heir to pass it to. He remembered well what his mother and father had; even after his father had been sent to the leper colony and he wanted that. He thought, prayed he would have that with Marian...

He shook his head. No. When this mess with John's take-over of England was complete and he had risen in power, he would have his pick of high-born, well-bred women. It would be politically arranged and that was that. It happened all the time. Unlike Marian, the woman would know her duty and accept it. And if the woman didn't please him, well, once he had a few sons off her, he would do like so many others and find a mistress and he would fantasize about whoever he wanted. He would have the money. And if she did not like it, he would retire her to a convent. It happened all the time. Love was no longer an issue or a requirement. It would be nothing more than what marriage should be: a legal agreement presided over by the Church.

There. Done. That was a simple decision to make.

"GISBORNE!" 

Vaisey's voice reached a level of shrillness unheard of and it jolted Guy out of his revere. The merchants were lined up, discovering there had been yet another tax hike and while they complained loudly, the tax chest was full. "Don't just stand there day-dreaming!" Vaisey was still screeching. "Take it to the strong room!" 

Guy shoved himself off the side of Vaisey's chair and slamming the lid of the chest shut, picked it up and headed to the stairs, where two of his personal guards waited. As he walked towards them, he recognized one of the merchants; Isandra de Monfaire. She was a French clothier, one that Marian used before her and her father's house arrest. As he passed her, he stopped. "Do not leave. I wish to speak to you. " He dropped his voice to a whisper. Vaisey was yelling at someone else. " Privatnom."

Her snarl was hidden from the Sheriff, but she showed no shock that Guy was capable of speaking French. "Quoi que pour, laquais?"

"A personal matter." 

The woman looked at him shrewdly, the sheriff still preoccupied. She rubbed her fingers together. Money?

Guy nodded. "At the portcullis in half an hour." He continued on, to the stairs, followed by his two guards. 

Isabella was standing at the bottom of the stairs, blocking the way. "Lackey. Wonderful description of you."

"Step aside."

His sister was not to be deterred. "And why would you need to speak with a ladies' clothes maker?"

Guy looked at his guard to the right, a burly, brusque man. "Simon. Move her."

Isabella glared at the man, instead she began backing up the stairs. "That is not a nice way to treat your sister. Do you not think he treats me wretchedly?" She aimed that remark to his other guard. Guy continued to glare, both hands on the heavy casket of coins. "Oh, why so grumpy? Little Lady Genevieve as hard to court as Lady Marian?" 

Guy refused to let her goad him. He continued to press forward and upward, Isabella maintaining her backwards creep, just out of reach. "Or did she not want to wear the clothing of a dead woman?" She reached the landing, but continued to stay close and provoke her brother. "Perhaps she would like some company? I could ride out. I'm sure she would like another woman to talk to, rather than the servants." Her face contorted into an ugly sneer. "Or you. Your conversation skills were never anything to brag of!"

Guy had reached the upstairs hallway now and his snarl would make the average person wilt. "You are to stay out of Locksley and stay away from Genevieve."

"Oh," she smiled wickedly. "On a first name basis, already. Have you bedded her yet?" 

He turned to Simon. "My sister obviously needs a guard. Stay with her and make sure she stays put." Guy took satisfaction in the look of revulsion his sister gave him. "Take her to her room now."

"Yes, Sir Guy." Simon moved forward and none - to - gently grabbed Isabella and dragged her down the hallway.

"Does she know?" she yelled over her shoulder. "Does she know wha-" She was quickly muffled and Guy made a mental note to give Simon a bonus. He nodded roughly at the remaining guard.

"Do not drag your feet. Look alert." The guard, not much more than a boy, stood up taller and picked up the pace. Yet again, Guy had a reason to roll his eyes. 

_Peasants._

~~~...~~~ 

The woman was on time. Truth was, she was waiting on him and looked rather put out. The air was heavy with unshed rain and merchants and dealers were packing their wares early, a heavy rainfall soon was guaranteed.

"This, it better be good." Isandra spoke better English than that, Guy knew she did, but she was now making a point.

"I said there was money in it for you. I would think that would please you." Both were leading their horses and her son was driving her cart of material.

"Many things are pleasing. Money is at the top of the list. If I am allowed to keep any." The last sentence was snarled.

"I do not make the rules, Madam de Monfaire. I only enforce them."

"Yes, yes, I know," she waved her hand dismissively. "It costs money to patrol the wood, to enforce the law. I give more money to your sheriff than I ever lost to Robin Hood." Her voice dropped again and Guy had to strain to hear. "At least, I know where my money is going when Robin Hood takes it!" 

They made their way across the drawbridge and into the countryside, both ignoring the starving at the base. "Now what is it that you desire to pay me for? I do not believe it is my ample bosom." 

Guy snorted. The woman was crass, earthy to the point of almost lewdness. He had seen her on occasion in the tavern in Nottingham. There was nothing feminine or lady-like about her. 

"I have a guest-" he caught her sharp intake of breath. "-a lady who was accosted on the road."

"These roads, they are dangerous anymore." She didn't sound afraid and Guy wasn't surprised, considering what she had just said about Hood. He continued on as if she hadn't interrupted. 

"She was robbed, everything was stolen. All she had was the clothes she was wearing. As she does not remember where she came from, I have not been able to contact her family."

"The poor child." Isandra decided she had exercised enough and stopped to pull up on her horse. It took five attempts before she finally managed to get into her saddle and watching the heave on the mare's face, Guy felt sorry for the beast. He looked back at her son, who was shaking his head in sorrow. _Ah,_ Guy thought. _She normally takes the wagon and the horse belongs to him. I would be worried as well._

"So, she is in need of clothing?"

"Yes. Two or three serviceable dresses, night clothes." Guy shuddered at the thought of telling Isandra what Genevieve was sleeping in.

"Small clothes?"

Guy's eyes bugged, thinking of the purple small-small clothes he found that he fought the urge to keep. "I would not know. You would have to ask her." The woman began to ramble about velvets and wool and he realized if he didn't say something and say something quickly, she would spend every crown he had. "She needs nothing extravagant. I do not plan on taking her any where."

"You are being beggarly with her?" The woman clucked her tongue. "It figures," she hissed under her breath.

"I can get someone else to make her clothes if this is going to be bothersome."

Isandra shrugged, not seeming to care. "It is up to you. If she is as you say, a 'lady', to dress her like a peasant would be a travesty."

Guy of Gisborne was not known for 'legendary control.' More rather, his lack of it. 

"I do not wish for her to be dressed as a peasant," he ground out between his teeth. "I could have done that already! All I am asking is for a few decent outfits. If this more than you can handle-"

"I can handle it, mon cher."

Now, he was going to be sick. She was as big a tart as Vaisey! 

"If you will bring her into town tomorrow-"

"No. Locksley is on the way to Knighton. You have materials, something that should please her."

Isandra watched him carefully. "What clothing she has is in that bad a state?" 

Guy was shaking his head. "You will see."

"This will cost you extra."

"No doubt."

"You should pray it does not rain."

At that point, Guy just wanted her to shut up.

~~~...~~~ 

"Dieu du Ciel! Is this all this child has to wear?" Isandra turned on Guy, shocking him and making him back up a step. "Why did you not come to me sooner?"

Genevieve had been called down, much earlier than she expected. She barely managed to turn off her iPad and cram it and the notebooks into her gym bag and shove it under the bed, only to run down the stairs and headlong into a barrel of a woman. The woman's berating of Genevieve's rather stoic benefactor irritated her for some reason. "Really ma'am. I've only been here two days. And I do not believe I am so outrageous." 

Isandra puffed at that. "Ladies do not wear trousers, especially skin-tight trousers!" 

Genevieve pulled at the hip seam. "They're stretchy." 

"They are..." Isandra threw her hands up, obviously at a loss for English words, "shameful!"

Genevieve had been in a bad mood all afternoon and this woman had trod on her last nerve. "Apparently they are not so shameful where I come from."

Isandra headed towards the door. "Where you come from is obviously backwards!"

Watching Genevieve bow up, Guy made the only decision he could come up with. He backed up into the shadows, noticing that Thornton and Joffrey joined him. There was nothing worse than two women going at each other. They could be worse than drunken men.

"Funny! I thought the same thing of this place!" She suddenly remembered Guy was still in the room. She looked over her shoulder, looking for him. "This household excluded."

Guy crossed his arms and leaned over to whisper to Thornton. "Tell me again why I am doing this?"

It took a moment for Thornton to respond. "Her manner of dress, my lord. It is unseemly."

"It don't bother me none," Joffrey piped in. "It grows on you."

"I do not recall asking you." The low-pitched rebuke caused the young guard to back up another step and drop his head.

"Jacques! Bring in my measuring kit, as well all the cloth in the back of the wagon. Leave the velvets and wool." Isandra's voice was piercing and it caused the men in the shadows to jump. She turned, hands on hips, searching for Guy in the shade. "Serviceable, correct?" 

It dawned on Genevieve to tell the woman that Guy had already attempted to clothe her in a more... suitably Dark Ages manner, but she figured she'd better keep her mouth shut. While everyone was busy pointing and yelling - except for That Man, of course, his eyes glittering in the shadows - Genevieve rushed up the stairs and going straight to her room, grabbed the draft book out of her gym bag, along with the stubby pencil. 

She managed to get the bag under her bed just in time. Genevieve had been to a few Renaissance Festivals and Celtic Faires in her lifetime. Not with Lamar, of course. Lamar thought they were a waste of time.

_Chalk up another reason to be glad that Lamar is to be future history! The boy was absolutely no fun! No fun, at all!_

While she realized that what she was wanting was more than likely ahead of this time... well, she was female...

And she wanted to be a trend-setter. 

Not to mention, she didn't put it past that man to outfit her in the ugliest wardrobe ever.

_You don't believe that, girlfriend. He wouldn't have brought a French seamstress to create something 'decent' for you._

She was sitting by the window, sketching away when the material started to arrive. Within a few trips, her normally neat and orderly room was draped with various materials, haphazardly slung from one end of the room to the other. Isandra's son went downstairs to wait and Eleanor...

Genevieve watched covertly, still drawing, as Eleanor fingered cloth and texture. No doubt, she had never been clothed in anything but what looked like homespun castoffs and it broke her heart. 

Isandra stood in front of Genevieve, fists on her hips.

"How many dresses am I allowed?"

"Two or three serviceable," the woman huffed. "Men! Do they not understand a lady's needs?"

"No, they don't," Genevieve agreed. "Which is why we are going to see how I can get more bang for his buck."

"Pardone?"

Genevieve shook her head and turned her sketchpad towards the woman. "Three plain, but fitted under dresses. Vary the neckline like so - scoop, square and curve," Isandra was nodding, "and vary that sleeve. Straight, with a point on the back of the hand, and then one with a bell sleeve." Again, she quickly illustrated, drawing in quick, bold strokes. "Three serviceable dresses, but..." 

She continued to draw. " These can be worn alone as is, however if you also create a few over-dresses, made to compliment..." she was chewing on her lip, as was Isandra.

"A kirtle."

Genevieve was trying to remember what they were called. "They shouldn't quite meet in the front-"

"So the tunic shows through, looking like part of the dress!" 

Eleanor was smiling. "And rather than three serviceable dresses, you really have five or six!" 

"Or nine," Isandra was grinning.

Genevieve tore out the pages and handed them to the dressmaker. Quickly perusing the fabric, she found a white linen. "Now I'm sure I saw... yes!" On the other side of the room, was a white sheer bolt of cloth. "Make one out of this, but the sheer, make the bell sleeves. Actually, make the entire dress out of the sheer, but line the bodice and the skirt with the heavier. Make the over dress...the kirtle," again she roamed the room before finding a green light wool, "out of this and short sleeved. Oh!" She grabbed the sheet she had just handed Isandra and made a few quick strokes. "Put a hood on it!" Within a few minutes, she picked out material for the other two long tunics - a grey and a light, icy, patterned blue, and two more kirtles; a darker blue and a black. 

Measuring her was a nightmare. Genevieve was used to buying clothes off a rack, fittings for society gowns were expected, but when she peeled down to her bra and panties, she truly thought the French dressmaker, was going to have an epileptic seizure. 

"Mon Dieu!" She pointed to Genevieve's chest. "What is it?"

Genevieve was in no mood to be cajoling. Her headache was starting to spiral out of control and she doubted Tylenol would help at this point. Eating was probably going to make her sick. "It's a bra."

"It looks..." The woman was struggling for words. " C'est un instrument de torture!"

Genevieve had taken Spanish in High School, but she understood enough to figure out the woman had said. "You get used to it."

Isandra was still horrified, her hands gyrating in useless circles. "But... but... why?"

Genevieve grabbed the under part of the cups. "It keeps the tatas up and perky." Somehow, she didn't think Isandra was listening. The woman was busy hyper-ventalating. "They won't drop so soon." Finally, the woman's eyes met hers. "Support." She pressed upwards.

Dawning lit on the woman's face. "Ah. Mademoiselle needs a corset!" Finally, she pulled out a long, notched, slender rope and began to measure, carefully writing down the numbers in her own notebook.

It was the longest hour of Genevieve's life.

~~~...~~~ 

It was starting to sprinkle when Isandra and her son loaded the wagon and left. Genevieve took three Tylenol, but as she suspected, her headache was now a migraine and the only thing that would cure it was dark and sleep. She attempted to eat, but was unable to swallow much. Her plate barely touched, her wine goblet left where it sat, untouched, she thanked Guy for the clothing he went overboard to procure for her, declined the evening bath and stumbled up the stairs and went straight to bed.

Guy finished his plate and then hers before starting on her wine goblet. It was poured and served; no need to waste it. 

"What caused her headache?" The question was a jolt in the quiet, causing Eleanor to jump. 

"Sir Guy?"

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "How has Lady Genevieve occupied her time today?" 

He noticed how the little servant girl and his guard looked at each other, worry evident on their faces. "She's been writing on parchment.""

"Something upset her," Joffrey blurted. 

Guy noticed the look of ire the little servant girl-

_Really, I should at the very least learn her name._

-shot at his guard. "What upset her?"

It didn't dawn on Eleanor to attempt to lie to the knight. She had seen him in a cold fury and it wasn't something she wished to court. "She said the paper had been written by idiots." Her voice dropped. "She was cursing something fierce."

Guy glanced at Joffrey, raising an eyebrow in question. Like Eleanor, the guard was quick to answer, too frightened to even think about acting dumb. "I've not heard men swear like that, Sir Guy. She were screamin' like a haint." He nodded to himself, missing Guy's expression of disbelief. 

Guy dispassionately watched as the servants cleared the table, listened while they cleaned the kitchen and quietly left for their own quarters, all the while not drinking the wine left behind. He stared into the gloom, one leg slung over the arm of his chair, the booted foot swinging aimlessly, while the knight forced his ever wandering mind to sit still and focus on the nothingness of the dust motes settling in for the night in the shadows. Despite his most heartfelt attempts, his mind wandered. 

He watched Marian's ghost drift through the hall, watched as she stared in horror at her hand where he had so proudly placed her betrothal ring. He heard Hood's voice, ringing through the rafters-

_I didn't realize a man had to be invited into his own hall, Gisborne..._

He sat, his mood, his visage becoming darker and darker...

_I only wanted to take back what was mine. What you stole from me twenty years ago. Getting yours as well was an added boon..._

He sat, for he didn't know how long. Hours? Finally, his throat parched from thirst, he picked up his goblet and drank the room temperature wine that was in it and grabbing the small candle left on the table, quietly made his way up the stairs. 

He passed his own rooms, and went to Genevieve's. Putting his ear to the door, he listened, hearing nothing. He knocked once, waiting for an answer, a murmur, anything.

Still nothing.

With the stealth of a trained assassin, he opened the door, thanking God the hinges were well oiled. The room was dark, save the low glow in the fireplace and from his own small light. There was a lump in the bed, Genevieve's head under her pillow. Quietly, Guy went to the table, calmly bringing the shutters to a close and locking them. He looked about the room, not seeing what he was searching for. It wasn't in the small ante-chamber, nor in her bare wardrobe. Peering under the bed, he saw the tip of her gym bag and smiling evilly, he used his boot to nudge it out from under the bed.

At that moment, Genevieve chose to mutter fitfully, and turn over, her pillow thrown from her face. Guy froze, waiting for her to sit up, anything. Instead, she whimpered, as if in great pain, her breathing finally deepening. There were lines on her face, her sleep not restful and deep in the pit of his stomach, it gave him momentary cause for concern. He waited for a few more moments, before sitting his candle on the table and pulling her gym bag from the floor.

Sitting it on the chair, he opened it, carefully perusing the contents before finding the notebook. He took it out, opened it and found the page where she copied whatever 'Addendum A' was and the neighboring page with her notes.

Whereas upon the completion of the sale, the buyer will take control of the stock released and held by the seller. The seller will retain none of the stock in her personal portfolio and will sever all ties with the business known as Robinson Architects. Any costs to sever ties will be paid by the seller...

Guy frowned as he read the rest of the page. He glanced over at Genevieve's notes, taking into consideration and not totally surprised at the angry, heavy handed slashes that constituted her handwriting and deeply scored the page...

_**OFHTTN!!!!! Not going to hand it over!**_

Ofhttn? What did that mean? And hand over what? The stock? This was obviously what Joffrey said upset her. What was...

Genevieve was stirring again, her sleep erratic. She was mumbling in her sleep, most of the words, insensible, but others...

_Lamar... bastard..._

Who was Lamar and why was she questioning his legitimacy? And again, what was stock?

Just at that moment, Genevieve shot up, gasping for breath. "NO! No! Please! Don't leave...don't do this..." her voice trailed off, replaced by a low keening.

Realizing she could and would see him and thinking quickly, Guy abandoned the table and slid onto the bed, taking her in his arms and cradling her head to his shoulder - the one away from the table, of course. "'Tis alright. You are safe." He squashed the urge to put his lips, his nose to her hair, concentrating on looking as if he were comforting her. "It was just a dream. Go back to sleep." He heard a muttered apology and again he quietly urged her to return to sleep. He held her close until her breathing deepened before laying her down and pulling the quilt up.

He returned to the table and perused the table for quill and ink, but could find none. He dug into the bag and found her writing utensil, a strange stick with sharpened charcoal at the end. Beneath her furious slashes, he wrote in unbelievably neat blocked letters beneath..

**WHAT IS STOCK?**

That would get a rise out of her, but perhaps she would talk about something besides clothes and jewelry in the morning. For once, Guy thought he would enjoy an intellectually stimulating conversation that did not involve pinching more money from people who did not have money. Or frippery. Or marriage. Or women. Or lepers. 

Or ghosts.

He put the things back into the gym bag and laying it on the floor, pushed it gently back into place. As he raised up, Genevieve flung her left arm out, the hand and wrist dangling over the edge the of the bed. With a smirk, Gisborne tenderly took the pro-offered hand and started to set it back gently on her torso, but stopped short.

The arm, the wrist, the back of the hand was discolored. Leaning backwards, he grabbed his candle and brought it close, hissing at what he saw.

Her left arm wasn't just discolored. It was bruised, bruised badly. Livid marks of purple, black and yellow covered her entire arm, from the back of her hand to as far up her arm as he could see. His next thought came completely unbidden and uncensored.

_Who beat her? I will kill him!_

~~~...~~~ 

_if you ask a question_

~~~...~~~ 

_Quoi que pour, laquais - Whatever for, lackey?_

_A/N - To the stockbrokers reading me: While I have done a great deal of research for this fic - specifically the world of architecture (education and status quo) and 12th and 13th century Western European History, when I researched the wonderful world of the stock market, my brain shut down. Therefore, I'm flying this by the seat of my pants. I'm sure there are mistakes and I apologize. No, I don't want to learn and no, I don't really care if I missed it by a mile. Just... use your imagination and fill in the blanks. Thank you._

_b) I have very specific ideas - pictures - of the clothing Genevieve requested._

_one green kirtle with hoodie -_

[](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/ZeeDippyVessel/media/734273_10151167195477537_1196302558_n_zps1633a7c5.jpg.html)

_and 2 serviceable dresses_

[](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/ZeeDippyVessel/media/tumblr_miw4zp1IyG1rekjkvo1_500_zps4eff9eb6.jpg.html)

[](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/ZeeDippyVessel/media/tumblr_mk34tuKaqN1rhaz4xo1_500_zps2b694da1.jpg.html)


	7. 06 - Love is not...

_**Manna from Heaven** _

_**Chapter 6** _

**_Love is not..._ **

Guy rocked back on his heels.

_Who did this to her?_

He blinked rapidly, thinking. Had anyone accosted her, attacked her, Joffrey most certainly would have told him. He was certain Genevieve definitely would have said something to him. Truthfully, in the very short time he knew the woman, he could not fathom her not putting up a fight. Truthfully, he imagined her attacker was in equally appalling shape! Gently, he set his candle on her night table, next to the bed, careful to tuck the bed curtain away from the small flame, and inspected her arm, pushing the sleeve up to her shoulder.

Bruised. Badly. It continued up past her sleeve and onto her shoulder.

Working slowly and patiently, so as not to disturb her sleep, he turned the quilt down and looked closely at her side, her leg. They showed none of the injury her arm showed. With much care, he covered her back up, almost missing her sigh of contentment as she rolled over her onto her right side. 

He checked to make sure the window shutters were secured before leaving her room and making his way to his own. Stripping down to his skin, he slid beneath the sheets, staring at the canopy above him, before drifting off into a troubled sleep of his own.

_**~~~...~~~** _

__  
The night was bitter. It was something Guy never got used to; the incredible heat of the desert in the day, and the blood-freezing cold at night.

_The town was deserted, not a soul stirred but himself._

_"GISBORNE!"_

_Guy shut his eyes. Hood. Again. How he wished, how he prayed the man had killed him..._

_The voice had come from the right, so Guy backtracked and took a street to the left, hoping to put distance between himself and the outlaw. In running, he paid no attention and in turning the corner, he barreled into Vaisey._

_"Someday," the man was cramming another fake tooth into his mouth, "he will catch you and kill you." He smiled up at the knight, a bright red light blinking madly from the inserted tooth. "I plan on selling tickets to watch! I love sport! And there is nothing more sporting than a killing!" And with that, he turned on his heel and walked off, his robes billowing behind him. "Hood! He's this way!"_

_Guy snarled in disgust and retreated to another alleyway._

_"GISBORNE!"_

_Again, Hood's voice, now closer and seeming to come from the sky. He looked up, worried now of seeing the man on the rooftop._

_He backed into Allan-A-Dale._

_"Not tryin' t'be funny Giz, but I think 'e might be a bit perturbed, you killin' 'is woman an' all."_

_Guy went to grab him by the throat, but in the end, he only grasped empty air._

_Curses that normally were not heard from the man's lips, fell like the heavy rain outside his window._

_It was raining? Where?_

_Again, he clung to the walls, cold and hard against his back. He turned another corner and ran into Marian._

_Marian in the saucy red outfit. She glared at him with her hands on her hips. "She's a leper, you know. We all are." She turned and sashayed off. "We are all lepers. Lepers, lepers, nahnyah nyah nyah nyaaaaaaaah nyah!" Her sing-song voice echoed from the walls._

_"She loves Robin, you know." Guy turned to see Isabella, leaning against a wall in the shadows. "She never loved you. Nobody loves you." Her face turned into that of a gargoyle's. "You are such a loser. You'll never amount to anything but a lackey!"_

_Guy threw his knife at her, but it hit the wall, bouncing into the sand, his sister fading into the night._

_There was singing behind him. Leaving his knife in the dust, he followed the voice into the square, where Genevieve stood on side of the fountain, dressed in the outrageous black dress he found her in. High heeled shoes and her back to him, she swayed enticingly to music in her head. Hearing him approach, she turned on one toe to face him, slightly off-balance, her hands and free foot waving erratically, before catching and balancing herself. As she came to rest, she began to undulate, her hips rotating slowly and her hands in her hair. "You have a problem, darling." She nodded to his groin._

_"Aye, I do," he whispered breathlessly. "Too many demons...and you."_

_"And me," Genevieve's response was jovial. She smiled and bent over, showing substantially abundant wares. Her fingers went to the edge of the short dress and began to lift it, showing more of her legs, her thigh... the top of her stocking. Her knees and hips were rotating in such a manner, it made him sweat. "Funny, I don't hear you complaining."_

_Guy inhaled, trying to get himself and his libido under control. It wasn't working. He tried to talk sense to this... she-devil. "I love another."_

_She jumped from the low shelf and stalked towards him, much like a predator. He, the hunter, had become the hunted. Before he could move, she grabbed him by his sword belt, pulling him towards her. He was powerless to stop her and it dawned on him he wouldn't have if he could. As he pressed closer, she unlaced his trousers, the cords whipping in the wind, freeing him, exposing him to the desert air. Despite the cold, he was hard, getting harder by the minute. One hand wrapped firmly around him, the other grasped him at the back of his neck and pulled him towards her. "She's dead, darling. Dead and cold and rotting in a sandy grave." The tip of her nose bumped his, teased him, her lips brushing, taunting his own. He opened, trying to capture her breath, but she danced away, this game, tantalizing. She continued to stroke, making him harder, her lips teasing his very breath. "She's as lifeless as an inflatable doll! Wouldn't you rather have a real woman? One who actually loved you? Who would give you the moon?"_

_One moment, she had her hand wrapped around his cock, her breath on his lips._

_The next, he was on his knees, dressed, clothing situated, a broadsword, his bloodied broadsword, at this throat..._

_...wielded by Hood._

_"I should kill you."_

_The Black Knight's eyes fluttered shut. "Please," he begged. "End this now."_

_"I should send you to hell where you belong!"_

_Guy swallowed hard and lifted his chin, giving Locksley an easier target._

_"But I can't."_

_Guy's eyes snapped open. Again, he was standing, his pants undone, Genevieve standing in front of him with her hand yet again wrapped around him. She was stroking, stroking him and he was so close..._

_"Hood can't send you to hell."_

_Guy closed his eyes, allowed himself to fall into a state of no return._

_Close... sooooo.... close..._

_Her hand stroked down, taking the foreskin with the cup of her palm, her thumb caressing the exposed head. "No, can't send you to hell."_

_He began to quiver, unable to stop, even if he wanted to. "Wh...wh...why not?"_

_Her grip firm, his seed ready to burst, she pulled him close, pulled him down and whispered in his ear..._

_"You're already there."_

Guy woke up and immediately bent over, his orgasm overwhelming. When he was completely spent and he regained his breath, he kicked the soiled sheets to the foot of the bed and moved to grab the pillow to put over his face so he could scream his frustration. 

But he was stopped by the sight of a still quivering arrow, embedded in his headboard, inches above his head, Hood's voice echoing in the night.

"GISBORNE!"

_**~~~...~~~** _

It was pouring when Guy awoke. The room was chilled and he lay naked shivering in the bed. Grabbing the arrow still implanted in his headboard, he broke the shaft, throwing both pieces in the rubbish basket. He damned himself for after making sure Genevieve's shutters were closed and barred, he forgot his own.

_Genevieve!_

His fury renewed, he threw on a loose pair of pants and a tunic - heavy rain meant no one was stirring anywhere, least of all Vaisey - and bolted from his room, to Genevieve's door. 

Genevieve was up, dressed and brushing her teeth, when That Man came pounding on her door. Still scrubbing, she threw the door open and took great pleasure in watching his eyes bulge. _He probably thinks I'm rabid; serves him right!_ Waving at him to take a seat, she poured a mug of water - _gag nasty this stuff hasn't been filtered or anything_ \- to rinse her mouth, which she spat in the chamber pot, in a most unlady-like manner. "Good morning to you, Guy," she began informally. She took in the loose, comfortable clothing. "Casual Friday at work today?" 

"'Tis Wednesday and I have no clue as to what 'Casual Friday' is."

Genevieve started to explain what Casual Friday was, but she knew it would be lost on him, so she changed the subject. "Do you not have any clothing but black?"

"Black suits me," he dead-panned. "I would like to see your arm."

She thrust out her right arm. "Why?" 

"Not that one. The other one." He pulled her sleeve up, inspecting it.

No bruises.

"Strange. I could have sworn-"

"What?" She was truly perplexed. 

"Last night. Your arm was bruised. It looked as if you had been beaten." Guy still had a hold of her arm, his grip gentle as he turned it back and forth. 

"I don't recall inviting you in my room last night."

Guy was focused on her arm and the rash underneath her upper arm. "You had a difficult night. I grew concerned and checked on you." He snorted, but didn't turn her loose. "I suppose it was just the shadow from the candlelight. Tell me," he stroked the rash, "what is this?" 

"What?"

Guy momentarily stopped the inspection of her arm. "What is this?"

"It's an allergy and what do you mean I had a difficult night?" 

The man blinked. "You had a difficult night." Genevieve continued to stare at him, her arm still held by his hand. Guy decided to embellish his story a bit. "You were crying in your sleep. You could be heard into my room." His thumb gently rubbed the reddened area of the implant site. "I tended to you."

"I don't believe you."

He never lifted his eyes, continuing to inspect the slightly angry, red flesh. It perturbed him that she would openly call him a liar and he forced himself to keep his touch gentle. "Who is 'Lamar'?" Gisborne had to bite back a smile at her sharp intake of breath. _Ah, a nerve._

"Where did you hear that name?" It was a harsh whisper.

Guy rubbed around the edge of the inflamed skin, seeming to be engrossed. "That was who you were crying for. I believe you called him a bastard."

She answered without thinking. "He is."

"Why," Guy lifted his eyes to hers, never releasing her arm, "would you associate with someone who is illegitimate?" 

Genevieve forced her features to stay calm. What would this man do if her found out she was illegitimate? Toss her out? Send her to a dungeon? Could one be sent to the dungeon for one's lack of married parentage?

_It's not your fault._

"He's not illegitimate. It's just a name. A nasty one."

Guy's smirk was lop-sided. "What is this?" He was now refocused on the irritated skin. "You said it was an allergy?" 

Wanting to distance him from the topic of her ex-boyfriend and her own heritage, Genevieve almost welcomed the change of subject, not realizing she was getting ready to open a bigger can of worms. "It's a birth control implant and I'm mildly allergic to it."

The knight's eyes met hers in shock. "Birth control?" 

_uh oh... oh well, might as well..._

"Yes. Birth control," Genevieve continued smoothly. "It keeps a woman from conceiving and getting pregnant, until she is ready."

"I thought you said you had no husband." The voice was low, more or less a growl, and Genevieve heard the accusation in it. This infuriated her. How dare he judge her!

"I do not."

"Then why would you need-"

Genevieve interrupted between clenched teeth. "I do not wish to get pregnant yet."

The man's entire visage darkened as black as his clothing. "The marriage bed is sacred!" 

"Oh Puh-leeeze!" She threw her head back and yanking her arm from his grasp, thrust both fists on her hips. "Don't tell me you are such a prude!" 

Guy's mind was racing, trying to make sense of her objection. "A woman should keep herself for her husband-"

"Are you keeping yourself for your wife-to-be?" She completely missed the storm brewing in the man's eyes. "Are you a virgin, Sir Guy?"

There was thunder outside, but it didn't drown out the argument, neither of them aware the servants had gathered at the foot of the stairs, listening to the battle going on in Genevieve's room. "A man has needs!" 

"Yeah, buster! Women have needs as well!" Genevieve's face was as red as Guy's glare was black.

"A woman has needs? Aye. She needs to be taken care of, protected, and kept with children to keep her busy! She should have a household and a husband to tend to!" Too late, he realized she was staring at him as if he were some thing to be pitied and shaking her head.

"A woman needs to be loved and cherished. She needs to feel wanted, needed, not only by her... household... or children, but by her husband most of all. Mostly, she needs to be in control of her own destiny."

Guy snorted. "It sounds as if you think women are accorded the rights of men."

"Neanderthal!" She thrust her arm out, the spot of angry skin visible. "Where I come from, we are!" 

Genevieve found herself wrapped in an embrace and pulled forward, almost nose to nose with the man. "God willing, you should soon be returned to your time, where you may have your rights and curse your beloved Lamar!" 

"Believe me! I am trying!" 

The two stared at each other for some moments, both enamored of the heat they found in each other's eyes. For a moment, Guy seemed to focus on Genevieve's mouth, giving her pause to think he might attempt to kiss her.

It appeared the thought crossed the dark knight's mind. He leaned closer, his lips hovering a scant few inches above hers, his exhaled breath on her cheek. However, rather than descend or take advantage, he whispered. "I suspect we have given the servants enough to chatter about this morning. If you do not mind, perhaps we should make our way to breakfast." He turned her loose and backed up a few steps, giving her a path to her door.

The sudden distance and cool air between them brought Genevieve up in confusion. "That would be a good idea." She turned and headed towards the door. "Best thing you've said all morning." She left the room, leaving Guy standing at the foot of the bed, sneering. 

At the sound of Genevieve stomping down the upstairs hallway, the servants scattered, straightening the table, the platters of food. All of them acted as if nothing had gone on upstairs and that they hadn't heard the heated words. Despite their anger, Guy pulled out the heavy chair for Genevieve and slid it under the table.

They ate in an uncomfortable silence.

It dawned on Guy that this morning, he did not have a hangover. Sadly, he didn't know what was worse: the nightmares or the hangover. As of late, he had both, therefore the alcohol was no longer doing its job. This was bothersome. Almost as bothersome as the conversation that had taken place earlier about birth control and women with needs and -

"Are you not going to Nottingham today?" Her voice was soft, as if she feared she would disturb the downpour. 

"No. It is raining." He didn't look up from his trencher, stabbing at another piece of sausage. 

"I guess riding a horse in this weather is awful and a carriage would get stuck in the mud."

Small talk. Guy fought the urge to roll his eyes. He was horrible at it, tended to talk in circles uncomfortably, especially around women. Not to mention, _this_ woman had a penchant to discuss the most incredibly unladylike subjects. He grunted.

Apparently, that gave Genevieve the notion that she was to prattle on.

"Thank you for bringing the dressmaker. I hope the expense isn't horrid."

_Clothing. Dear God in Heaven. His least favorite subject at all. How women could blather on and on and on and on..._

"Do not mention it." 

"I appreciate it so much." Guy looked upwards, seeing the page in the shadows. His glare caused the boy to step back warily further, terrified to be seen.

"The dressmaker, Isandra, said my clothing should be ready by Friday."

"Do not mention it."

Genevieve was focused on her food, completely oblivious to the fact the storm outside did not compare to the thunderous fury about to erupt in the chair next to hers. "I imagine it would be a relief to you. I guess I'm dressed pretty outlandi-"

"GENEVIEVE! SHUT! IT!" 

The entire hall came to a stand still. Dust could be heard settling. The knight continued to work on what was left on his plate. 

"There is no need to be-"

"Lady Genevieve." It was spat through clenched teeth. "There is nothing I cannot stand more than useless, idle chatter."

_Finally. Blessed silence._ Now he could concentrate on the rest of his breakfast. He was wretchedly aware that she quietly pushed her chair back. 

"Well then," she whispered, "I suppose your own inner thoughts drive you insane." She rose from the table. "God knows there isn't much up there but rocks, anyway!" With that, she stormed from the table, the hall, and up the stairs, making very little noise, truth be told. The slamming of her door echoed through the home, Guy's goblet raised halfway to his lips. 

His eyes rolled into the back of his head. "What a man has to do to have a peaceful meal." He made a mental note to himself. His wife, when he got around to it, needed to be mute. It wasn't lost on him that little servant girl - what was her name? - and Thornton, were looking at him with pity. He started to growl at them, but decided it was a waste of energy. It was raining, he hadn't slept well in months and quite frankly, he was feeling rather lethargic. It did not help that the argument from earlier was weighing heavily on his mind. "Are the estate ledgers in my office?"

"Yes, Sir Guy." As always, Thornton's tone was pleasant and respectful. If he was upset by Guy's treatment of Genevieve, he didn't show it in the least. "You should find them in order."

"I am sure I will." He stood up. "I am simply bored." With that, he removed himself from the table and retrieving the ledgers from his office, retired to his room to look busy.

He knew he would have company shortly and the company would be a tumultuous explosion of female fury. Fury that he prayed was connected to intelligent conversation and answers to his questions.

That, he looked forward to.

_**~~~...~~~** _

Genevieve was in a fine snit. That man's moods changed like the wind! So caring and gentle one minute and then all in her shit the next. And his ideas on women's needs? Opening her shutters to pouring rain, she sank into the chair and stared at the water - laden fields.

_It's the time period, the male mind - set, the man is a drunken mess at night and is probably hung over to the bone..._

She wished she could access the internet on her iPad, look up the laws, the customs, the culture of this time. Early in her career, her previous employer had done business with a Saudi group. She didn't like how the men... looked at her... whispered. She realized before the end of the day that the senior architects kept the women working for the firm in very subservient positions - coffee, drinks. Otherwise, women like Genevieve, were kept busy elsewhere and none of them worked on the Saudi project at all. At the time, Genevieve didn't think on it; she had a job, she had a paycheck. But later, especially after she founded her own firm, she did think on it.

_You are either a member of the nobility, a peasant or a Bride of Christ. I do not believe you are any of that._

_You are as strange to them as they are to you._

Genevieve shook her head. Culture shock. What a concept. That a man would be excused for taking care of his needs, but for a woman to even acknowledge hers... 

If she continued on this vein, she'd be too angry to work. Genevieve flung herself from the chair and pulled her gym bag from under the bed. Pulling out the iPad and notebook, along with a pen, she settled back into the chair. It was cool out, the rain bringing a definite chill to the air, but it cooled her temper against the man. He was what he was. And right now, he was giving her free room and board. If he wanted silence, by God, she could give him silence! 

Maybe.

For some long minutes, she sat, her face pointed towards the autumnal rainy breeze. This fall here, was much different, pleasant actually, from fall in Atlanta. The city itself was hot, stifling; the pollution and smog overbearing and stifling most days. It usually didn't begin to truly cool down until late October and early November, From this angle, the wind direction, the air actually smelled... good. No scent of the latrine or the barns or unwashed bodies... just the smell of rain. 

This ruminating wasn't getting her anywhere. Val said as soon as she finished, she could come home. She turned on the iPad and thumbed to where she left off. She then opened her notebook, only to stare, frozen in space at her 'translation' side with her notes.

**What is stock?**

She inhaled deeply.

"GUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUY!!! DAMN YOUR BLACK SOUL TO HELL!!!"

_**~~~...~~~** _

Genevieve's screech was heard not only through out the manse, but throughout the village green as well. Women leaned out their open doors, to look towards the Hall of Locksley. Men huddled closer to whatever they were working over. In the kitchen, Thornton put a restraining hand on Joffrey, nodding his head negatively. "Let them sort this out," he whispered. "'Tis time he faced a woman who will openly dance with him."

"Dance? Don't sound like no dancin' to me."

Thornton was smiling slightly. "Verbally sparring - a spirited dance, to be sure. Lady Marian kept her distance." He now began to nod, as footsteps jarred the household. "This one does not." Deep in his soul, Thornton felt this 'Lady Genevieve' was a good match for Sir Guy. The gale that brewed between them was building like an electrical storm and was felt by the rest of the household, a chemistry that was never felt with Sir Guy's former betrothed, which in all honesty was colder than a blizzard. 

Now if only the two could see it.

Genevieve stormed past the master bedroom, having to back up when she realized he was in his bedroom.

Guy was seated, his large booted feet up on the table and what looked like a ledger open in his lap. One hand drifted leisurely across the page, reading the columns, the purchases, the expenditures of his estate. The other was propped on the arm of the chair, one finger up and Genevieve's fuzzy handcuffs were lazily being spun around the long digit. Despite having his back to her, he - obviously - heard her coming and when the loose cuff came around, he snatched it from the air and put his hand down to his side, between the chair and the wall. 

"You shrieked?"

"Guy-" 

"For your information, it is well established and a well known fact that I am going to hell. No need to announce it to the staff, or the village."

"Dam-" 

"Your language," he interrupted drolly, never looking up, "is most unladylike and has much to be desired. "

"I don't give a flying-"

"It offends my ears." He slowly turned the page, his free hand continuing to follow the lines. "God only knows what the servants and peasants think - a reputed 'lady' speaking like a common strumpet." 

Genevieve snorted inelegantly. Truth was, he was right. Her language was typically confined to her thoughts. "Eleanor has already suggested I attend confession with the local priest," she mumbled under her breath.

Now Guy turned his attention on Genevieve, looking up through long, dark lashes. "Eleanor? Is that her name?" He turned back to the ledger, seemingly more interested as to what was on the page. 

"Do not change the subject!" 

"I was not aware we had established a subject," the knight muttered, secretly enjoying the looming tempest. He marked his place on the column with his finger. Raising an eyebrow, he glanced at the irate woman sideways. "That is unless you wish to discuss your clothing again." His attention returned to the tome in his lap. "If that is the case, the door is behind you. Use it." 

Her notebook slammed down on top of his hand, the page opened to her notes and his remark. Guy slowly drew his hand from underneath the paper, reading again, her notes. "You wrote this?"

"You wrote it!"

His face scrunched up in question. "I wrote what?" 

Genevieve's finger jammed down on the page. "That! You wrote that!" 

Leisurely, his eyes trailed down her arm to where her finger pointed. He cocked his head sideways. "What," he read slowly, "is stock." He nodded once and rested his full attention on the very angry woman standing next to him. Surreptitiously, he kept his other hand between the chair and the wall, continuing to slowly swing the handcuffs back and forth on his hooked finger. "What is 'stock', Genevieve?" 

Her jaw fell slack, something that amused the man to no end. "You didn't come into my room last night to check on me! You went through my things!" 

Guy made no attempt to deny it; it was never his intention to deny it. The proof was sitting in his lap, with her finger pointing to his purposeful transgression. He picked this fight, it was up to him to control it to find the information he wanted. Taking his feet off the table, he lifted both notebook and ledger balanced beneath with his free hand and set them gently where his feet had been. Finally, he lifted his hand playing with her 'toy' and propping his elbows on the table, began to fidget with the handcuffs, rolling them around both index fingers. "You became upset in the night, which disturbed me. After tending to you, I tripped over your satchel, which was sticking out from under the bed. Joffrey and Thornton both mentioned that something you were working on upset you greatly yesterday and I admit to looking to see what it was. I will not deny it; I will not apologize." His smile was insincere and Genevieve knew it. "I want to help you return to your home." Without warning, he seized the swinging manacles and stared up at the woman. "What is stock?"

For a moment, he thought she would turn, leave, walk out, curse again.

"Why would they want your cows?"

She inhaled.

"Cows? I don't have any cows! Stock is a monetary investment."

Gisborne thought on that for a minute. He had paid his friend Lambert to develop a formula, an invention of explosive black powder; something that should have brought him power and wealth. The advances in mining would have been tremendous, speeding the process up, eliminating much of the loss of life. But Lambert changed the terms of their agreement - or attempted to - and as a result, Guy lost the formula, the invention, any money he would have made, and his friend. 

Vaisey had killed him. Guy had few friends and those he cherished. Lambert was intelligent and Guy enjoyed his company and his conversation. The man's death grieved him, still haunted him. For all of his position, he had been powerless to prevent it.

"Explain."

"An investment." Genevieve sank on the edge of the bed, clearly searching for an explanation he could understand. "Imagine, you have a friend who has developed a new type of hay. It grows faster, you can get more cuttings from it, it's more filling, so you can feed more horses. Thing is, he doesn't have enough money to plant the field. He needs... oh... 100...oh what is your currency?" Her hand rotated in a nervous circle. 

"Crowns." 

She nodded. "Crowns it is. He needs 100 crowns to create enough to plant his field, but he only has 60 crowns. You give him 40. The agreement is, when he sells his crops, instead of paying you back 40 crowns, he'll pay you back 40% of his entire share."

Guy thought for a moment. "If he makes a profit, that would be a smart move." 

"A very smart move," Genevieve agreed. "Thing is, many people simply keep reinvesting it, over and over and over. Or they hang on to it and sell when it's worth a lot of money, when they need money, or when it looks as if it's not going to make as much money."

Guy was nodding. "Stock. Investment."

"Yes." 

He tapped her notebook. "This Fickle-butt person-"

"It's pronounced 'Beaut'."

One side of Guy's lip raised. "He is paying you for your stock?"

Genevieve shook her head. "They are buying my business, not my investment in it. It was never discussed. Not until this hidden addendum."

That caught Guy's attention. "Hidden? As in secret?" 

"Yeah." Genevieve was no longer guarding her words. "The contract sent to me was straight up. There was a casual reference made to an addendum, which was never sent to me, but sent to my attorney - my solicitor." Again, Guy's eyebrow shot up in question. "My lawyer. He's versed in law." 

"The King is the law."

"We don't have a king and no, I don't want to discuss it now!" Genevieve's throat was parched and she motioned for Guy's wine goblet. Draining the mead, she handed the empty pewter back. "It bothers me they didn't send me the addendum. Instead, they sent it to my attorney, who has been preoccupied with other things. His secretary sent me the addendum just before..." her voice trickled off.

"Just before what?" 

"Just before I came here," she whispered. Leaning backwards on the bed, she flung her arms out over the mattress and reverted back to the original subject. "It bothers me they didn't send me the addendum. Lawfully and ethically, they should have. By bypassing me-"

"They are hiding something. If they concealed this from you, what else are they hiding?" Guy's shadow splayed over the bed, over her. He leaned against the bedpost, his arms crossed and looking down. 

_When was the last time you had a woman in your bed, Gisborne?_

"Yeah. They're trying to keep me in the dark and that bothers me." Genevieve was deep in thought and not paying much attention to the eddy of emotions coming from her benefactor.

"Who are you?" his voice barely heard.

Genevieve was concentrating on the curtains above the bed. "Genevieve Robinson."

"Why are you here?" Guy was picking his nails, doing everything to keep from joining her on the bed.

"To figure this out. To get my priorities in order." If the woman in the bed was aware he was quietly interrogating her, she did not appear to be bothered by it. "Val said it was quiet here." 

"Val?" 

"My office manager. She came to me in a dream." Suddenly, she lifted her head and looked at him, reclining on her elbows and scrutinizing his features. "Do you have dreams? Really life-like, 'I'm here at this party' dreams?" 

Remembering his dream from the previous night, Guy snorted and threw himself from the post. "Believe me; my dreams are no party." Feeling needy and not liking it, Guy stepped backwards and grabbed the notebook. "Why?" He shook it at her. "Why go through this if you have the original?" 

Genevieve pulled herself up, as if suddenly aware she had placed herself in a vulnerable position. "I can't read it in its original state. It's in legal-ease." Guy cocked an eyebrow in question. "The language is very formal. It helps if I write it down and then I can write all over it, make notes," she pointed to the tablet he held. "Like that."

"Where is the original?" 

"Well... I..."

Guy was all seriousness and business again. "Surely, you are getting this," he pointed to her transcribed version in her notebook, "from somewhere. I would like to see it."

She tried to put him off. "The writing is very small." The man shrugged. By God, the man shrugged! "It's a Twenty-first century gadget. You'll find it odd."

With a suddenness Genevieve was not expecting, Guy dropped the notebook on the small table behind him, climbed on the mattress, straddling her, backing her up, higher into the bed. "I find you odd." When she could go no further, one hand came up, caressing the side of her face. The touch was infinitely gentle, his mouth on the sensitive spot at her ear. "Tell me, Lady Genevieve, with your modern birth control, if I made love to you this minute, would we have to worry about conceiving a child?" 

"Uhm..." Her body was coming to life. "No."

"Or tonight, tomorrow, Sunday?" 

Her eyes were closed, every nerve in her body, screaming...

"No." 

As suddenly as he covered her, he backed up, gently removing her arms from around his neck - something she didn't realize she had done. "That is nice to know," he breathed. "Go retrieve your... odd gadget." 

With the look of a cornered thief, she scampered from beneath him, hurried to her room, Guy's devious chuckle well heard. She was a long time in her room, so long Guy thought to reclaim her, but he decided that she was simply trying to get herself in order, much like he was. After several long minutes, she returned with the larger of the black slates in her hand. Turning it on, she handed it to him. "This is the equivalent of a lot of books, of notes." Guy watched in rapt horror as she pressed pictures, moved things across the screen with her fingers. She came to the document and pulled it up. "It starts here," she pointed. "You turn the pages like this," she brushed her fingers across the flat screen. With a snort, Guy waved her hand away, dragging his finger across the screen, much like he did his ledgers and becoming annoyed with the thing's bouncy retort. 

"Close the door," he admonished. "There are those who would call this witchcraft and I chose not to burn this day." 

"Guy, if we shut the door, won't the servants-"

"Not if they wish to keep their tongues." His eyes never left the screen and he ignored her sharply inhaled gasp. He was squinting. "How can you read this? It is small-"

"That's the problem." She shut the door gently, hoping and praying no one said anything. "After a short time, it gives me a horrid headache."

Guy said nothing, concentrating on the information on the object in front of him. _'Strange,'_ he thought to himself, ' _the things of her world.'_ He wanted to ask her of war machines, and if black powder had truly been invented. He wanted to inquire of armor, how bows, arrows and swords had been improved. He wondered who won this crusade, this war of Rome's that England's coffers were being drained for, what would happen to Englishmen, men like himself, Vaisey, John... What wondrous, horrible things had changed, for the better, for worse...

"What is a 'retirement package'?" He was now lying across his bed on his back, the iPad in the air over his head, reflecting the muted light from his window. 

"You can read that?" 

He nodded, not taking his eyes off the printed word. "It is small, but aye, it is in perfect English." He looked at her in disdain. "I have no idea why you have problems understanding it." He returned to the iPad, his long, elegant fingers touching the screen and moving things back and forth. 

"A retirement package is something an employer and an employee put together over the years they work for the company. That way when they retire, or stop working, they have something to provide for them." 

Guy made a moue, as if pondering a great conundrum. "You help provide for them when they become too old or infirm to work?" 

"Well, of course!" Genevieve was always quick to champion her employees. "Why shouldn't I? They work hard for me; they've made me wealthy and successful! I have several clients who hired my firm not because of me, but because of the creativeness of several of my employees. If it weren't for them, their ingenuity, I wouldn't have a lot of the work I have." Now she shrugged. "Look at it as a reward for hard work that pays off. Doesn't the Sheriff reward you for a job well done?"

This caught Guy unawares. Was he not bound to Vaisey, John, for the same reason? If they succeeded, he would be rewarded with more land, power, probably a title beyond 'Sir'. His father - a common knight - was rewarded for his service to the Crown, for his future, his family... the very Gisborne lands, his own title were in a sense, his father's retirement...

_Only to be lost to that sniveling brat, Robin..._

"Is something wrong, Guy?" Genevieve was standing next to the bed, a very concerned look on her face. "Do they want the retirement packages as well?" 

With a sigh, Guy laid the iPad down. The thing had now given him a headache as well and he rolled from the bed. "No. They do not want the retirement packages." He stood up and stretched, the vertebra in his back, popping. Genevieve didn't seem to notice, busy in deep thought. "They want the stock in the retirement packages and they want you to compensate your employees with your funds for the stock."

"WHAT?" Genevieve looked up, fury already evident. "They want my stock, at no extra charge and now they want the stock in my employees retirement package as well?" She didn't realize that the Black Knight was now standing less than inch from her, towering over her, leisurely perusing her form. 

"And you to reimburse your peasants from your funds." He lifted a finger, tucking a stray hair behind her ear, exposing the shell to the air. 

"Oh no! Oh no! I do NOT think so! Oh-"

"Often," he whispered in her ear, bringing her up. "but you spelled it wrong. O.H.T.T.F.N." 

Genevieve was not aware how much peril she was in. "It doesn't mean that."

"What does it mean?" 

She turned her head to look at him, realizing too late that his mouth was an inch from hers. "You have complained about my unlady-like language." He could feel her breath on his jaw. "Rather than singe your ears, let's just say it's an ugly way to say 'Oh no!'" She licked her lips nervously. "They can't have it." She couldn't move. His hand was on her waist and he was drawing her closer, closer to him, closer into him.

"They want it."

She swallowed. "They can't have it," she whispered.

"Playing hard to get?" Genevieve shook her head. Catching her off-guard, he reached out and pulled her completely against him. "But they want it, my lady. They are rather adamant about it. And," his voice dropped lower, "I want you."

With that, his mouth descended.

_**~~~...~~~** _

_**No, it's just a thought** _

_**~~~...~~~** _


	8. 07 ...arrogant...

****

Manna from Heaven 

****

Chapter 07 

****

...arrogant... 

His mouth descended.

His kiss caught Genevieve unawares, off-guard, but she was still shocked at the gentleness of it. Much like her first forays into kissing, it was sweet, questioning, and almost shy, something she wouldn't believe from this man. 

_It's like butterflies... being kissed by a butterfly..._

In a peculiar way and when she would think back on it, she felt as if he were asking permission, standing outside the door of her heart, requesting, almost pleading for admission. And somewhere in the haze of its simplicity, Genevieve forgot Lamar, forgot her heartbreak and kissed him back.

At that point, they both fell in the abyss, the heat, of each other. 

It was when his mouth left hers, to blaze a trail to her ear, the one that was over responsive, that she came to her senses and pulled back.

"Guy."

He drew her back, his lips returning to tease the sensitive bit of flesh. Genevieve's knees buckled and again, she attempted to pull away. "Guy, please. Stop." 

Somewhere in fog of need and lust, he heard her crying out and it wasn't in passion. As much as it pained him, he pulled away. "Genevieve?" She was looking down, at the floor, at the small space between their feet. 

"I'm... sorry," She was shaking her head. "I... I am afraid I would be an easy conquest and a poor substitute." She started to pull away further. "It's unfair..." her voice trailed away.

"A poor substitute for what?" 

"Her." It was enough, said it all. "I'm sorry. I'm really in a bad place right now." With that, she yanked herself away and throwing the door open, she tore through the hallway and down the stairs. 

Leaving her iPad and the notebook on the bed. Guy's fist beat a painful rhythm on his thigh, listening to the servants raise an alarm and her answering reply. Joffrey's sudden shout, raised the knight's concern. 

"Lady Genevieve! 'Tis pourin', it is!"

Again, a murmured reply. Quickly, Guy stepped to the window, mostly to cool his ardor, only to see Genevieve tear out of the manse, dodging puddles, his old heavy leather coat raised above her head.

And head straight towards the church.

****

~~~...~~~ 

Genevieve needed air, she needed respite, but mostly, she needed to go somewhere quiet where she could ruminate not only on the information about her stock, but her feelings for Guy.

_Feelings? What feelings? More like get her raging hormones under control._

The rain was torrential, a downpour, much like it had been the one vacation trip she took to Florida, only to have a tropical storm tear through and utterly destroy the week. Keeping Guy's huge coat over her, she focused on her feet, jumping over tiny ponds, no clue of the direction she was taking. 

_She wanted that kiss, enjoyed it, wanted more. It killed her to pull back, what about Lamar?_

What about Lamar? It bothered her that perhaps she was getting over him too quickly, that the breakup wasn't affecting her like it should have if she truly loved him. Right now, she was angrier in the way he chose to break it off; via a phone message, called when he knew she would be at the gym, so cowardly. 

So very cowardly.

Looking back now, she saw the red flags of the relationship, warnings she didn't heed, paid no attention to. So wrapped up in her fantasy, she'd ignored them, neglected the intricacies of the sale of her company, didn't follow up as she should with her attorney.

So much at her feet; so much her fault. 

_You need to get your priorities straightened out, chickie-poo._

Genevieve suddenly realized that she stood in the shadow of what passed for the hamlet's church. 

_A quiet place to reflect..._

Steeling herself, she pressed on the latch, mildly surprised when the door opened. 

The church was dark, the sound of the rain outside giving the place a peaceful feeling. Genevieve shrugged from under the huge coat - honestly, how did he walk around wearing it? It weighed a ton! She shook the water off and made her way to a quiet looking spot. Laying it gently across the pew, she sank down next to it, the smell of wet leather permeating the large room. 

_You need to get your priorities straightened out, chickiepoo..._

Val was right. For the first time since she arrived three days before, Genevieve had an inkling of exactly why she was here - if she wasn't dead. For the first time, the thought occurred to her that her relationship with Lamar was an unhealthy one, which bothered her tremendously. Thinking back over the past few years, it became clear that she was nothing more than an arm-ornament for the man; someone to show off, for people to admire. He wasn't there for her, truly hadn't been supportive of her or much of anything for quite sometime. What had been decent sex in the beginning had gone down hill so suddenly...

Why hadn't this occurred to her sooner? So wrapped up in the social whirl of his circle...

_You would have been stuck with The Gator for a mother-in law. She would be grandmother to your children! She would have attempted to limit Gramma's time with her great-grandchildren and the panty wipe would have backed her up. You would have had no emotional support whatsoever._

Genevieve silent thanked her Maker for getting her out of that mess. 

But she still had feelings for the man, if she didn't, it wouldn't hurt and it was hurting. Despite everything...

Which brought her to her next problem. 

_You cannot replace an unhealthy relationship with yet another unhealthy relationship! Not to mention what happens when you finish translating that contract?_

Which face it would go faster with that man's help.

_That kiss..._

Maybe not. 

Rebounding. A girl's worst fear - whether she be doing the rebounding or dating a man who was rebounding. And both rebounding at the same time could definitely be the problem here. Not to mention, she supposedly wasn't staying in this place. When she managed to get through the contract, from what Val insinuated, she would be returning to her time.

To a broken body.

Then again, if this was hell, Sir Snarksalot rebounding, her rebounding for all eternity... 

Yep. This was hell. 

"You look weary, child. Can I help you" 

Genevieve was yanked from her musings, to look into the brown eyes of a kindly priest. She blurted the first thing that came to mind.

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned."

His chuckle was enlightening. "Have not we all?" The man's head dropped with a sad smile on his face. "And what horrible, wretched things have you done that would cause you to search out the confessional in such weather, Lady Genevieve?" 

For a moment , she was shocked he knew her name. But then upon thinking, she realized she had been the source of much gossip, even if she had hid in the manse. "That man makes me curse like a sailor," she admitted. "Why must he be such an ah..." she cut herself off. _Swearing in the House of God. No. Oh no no no no no!_ "- difficult human being?" 

"Ah, Sir Guy," the priest began slowly, "is quite the conundrum and in a thorny and complex position. Truthfully, on his own, he is not an over-bearing taskmaster. Certainly no worse than Robin of Locksley or Lord Robin's father," The man nodded into the gloom of the church. "Sadly, he serves wicked taskmasters and he is in no position to leave or betray them. The cost to him and his would be dear." The man turned blue eyes on the young woman sitting in the pew behind him. "Believe me, he sees what the excessive taxation is doing to his people. Sir Guy has very strong opinions about this... crusade... our King has involved us all in. And he has very strong opinions about John, even if he does not wish to ponder them at this time. He will have to sooner than later. " The man patted the top of the pew. "You look chilled. Wait here." He rose from the bench and wandered off to what Genevieve thought would be the back and most likely the priest's small apartment or quarters. As he moved away, she could hear him singing off-key under his breath...

_Ut purus non habes, an mulier quaedam erat in caveam gradu sis fur , Etiam potest diabolus sit amet servire Domino sed quis es_

The tune was vaguely familiar and Genevieve struggled to place it.

This is ridiculous! 

Absent-mindedly, she brushed the remaining drops of water from the leather coat next to her. 'You know, you didn't even ask permission to borrow it. He might be ticked off about that. '

"Child. Come." Genevieve was roused from her musings, to see the priest set an earthen goblet and a small plate of bread on the communion altar. He stepped back, motioning to the chalice. "I apologize for the plainness of my hall," he smiled gently. "But you will find the tea to be warm and soothing and the bread fresh. Please." Again, he invited her forward. He pulled a cloth of linen from his tie belt. "I will dry Sir Guy's coat while you relax and talk to me." 

"I should have asked to borrow it." Genevieve made her way to the front of the little chapel. "I suppose if it upsets him, he'll come for it." She lifted the goblet, surprised to find it warm. 

"Oh no," the priest began to wipe at the supple leather. "Sir Guy will not step foot into this chapel, not if his very life depended on it."

Genevieve turned, the bread in her hands. It too was warm, as if it had just come from the oven or had been sitting next to the hearth. "Is he athie-"

"Mentioning that word," the priest admonished her, "or even admitting to that will get one hung or burned at the stake." He returned to the drying of the coat. "No, he is neither one nor the other. This place simply has wretchedly painful memories for him." It was quiet for a moment. "He questions many things, including his purpose in life." 

"Bad memories?" Genevieve held out the bread, to share, but the priest shook his head. 

"Please eat. I am not hungry." Finally satisfied that the coat was dry, he laid it gently across the pew. "He was to marry Lady Marian here. The wedding did not go as planned and rather than walk from this place with a bride on his arm, he left with a black eye and the sight of his wedding ring thrown on the floor. "

This information threw Genevieve into a tailspin. "But... he loves her still."

"He loves a dream, a fantasy, but I," the man's hazel eyes sparkling, "would never tell him that." He motioned to Genevieve's goblet on the communion table. "More tea?" 

"Yes. Please." She started to hand it to him, but he snatched it from the altar. "There is chamomile in it, isn't there?" She watched as he wandered to the alcove behind the altar.

"Aye." His voice echoed from the back. "Do you find it calming?"

Genevieve was now leaning against the pulpit, her arms crossed. "A friend of mine used to brew it for me when I was stressed. Val made a great cup of tea."

"Ah," The priest came from behind the curtain and set the goblet back on the altar. "You are not from here, are you, child?" 

She quickly buried her nose in the goblet. "I... uh... don't know where I'm from. Hard knock on the head, I guess." She set the goblet down and picked up the last of the bread. "I imagine it must be somewhere outlandish!" She nodded towards her pants. 

"Your living arrangements-"

"Nothing is happening! I swear it!" 

The priest stopped at her interruption. "The alternatives are no better, if at all. Nottingham Castle is quite dangerous and Ripley Convent would not suit you, I do not believe." He tilted his head, eyes now turning a brilliant green. "No one is talking about the fact you are living with the man without a proper chaperone and could care less, if it puts him in a sweeter temper. In fact, many of the local women are jealous. They seem to think he is a handsome man, very well-wrought, although I would know nothing of that. It's a well known fact that Kate, the potter's daughter, is living openly in the forest with Robin Hood, that a female Saracen girl lived in the woods before that, and even Lady Marian lived in the woods with Robin for a short time after her father died, even if Sir Guy chooses to ignore that. It is not a thing people are talking about. They are, however, talking about your outlandish method of dress, or lack of it." Again, he tipped his head and smiled. "I would gather the women are envious of that as well." He nodded towards her jeans. "They seem to be easier to move about in." 

"Well, I'm getting new clothes by Friday. Hopefully," she muttered, "I won't stick out so much."

"Oh, you will stick out, regardless." The priest was now leaning against a post. "Now, pray tell, what was it truly that had you dashing through the rain to the church?"

Genevieve sank to the floor, her knees together. "A few things, to be honest." She had no idea the place she sat was in fact the exact same spot where Sir Guy had knelt to take his vows. She thought for a moment. How to explain this without tipping her hand? "I fear I am running from something." 

"An unwanted marriage, perhaps?" The priest nodded benevolently. "This is quite common in this time." 

Genevieve started to ask _'Like Marian and Guy?'_ but decided it would be best not to. "Not quite." Thrusting her hands between her knees, she continued, "There are decisions I need to make and they are unpleasant." 

"Ah." The man nodded sagely. 

"Thing is, I have to go home to make them and..."

"You cannot find your way home." 

"No." It was a delicate whisper. "I have to get my priorities in order."

"Do you know what your priorities are, Genevieve?" He was now standing over her, gray eyes, concerned. "Not only the priorities of your mind, but those of your heart as well."

She raised her head, confused as the constant change of the man's features. "The heart? That's the worst. How does one leave an unhealthy relationship?" She looked down, watching her knees swing back and forth, her hands still tucked between them. "That's what I'm running from. He doesn't love me and I'm realizing that I don't really care. What does that make me? And what if one is attracted to another unhealthy relationship?"

"One step at a time, dear. One step at a time. Do not rule out love just because you are hurting." The priest cocked his head and tilted sideways. "I believe the rain has stopped." Continuing to look towards the thatched roof, he continued. "I absolve you of your sins, Genevieve Robinson. No Hail Marys or rosaries. Just live and love." 

For several moments, she pondered on what the man said before looking up.

He was gone. 

She started to call out, but decided against it. Rising from the step, she walked down the aisle, picking up the dried leather coat and opening the door discovered indeed, the rain had stopped for the time being. The day was gray and the promise of more rain filled the air, a cold wind blowing. Genevieve considered putting the coat on, but it would have dragged the ground. She stepped outside, into the town proper and again watching for puddles, made her way back to Locksley Manor. Again, the stench from the waste and the animals became over-whelming and Genevieve caught herself holding her breath until she reached the relative slightly cleaner air of the manse. Stepping up to the threshold, she realized the door was open and that Guy leaned on the side of the frame, arms crossed and watching her intently. He held a half-eaten pear in his hand. 

"Did Father Thomas hear your confession?" he jeered.

_Priorities priorities priorities..._

"Yes." She hung his coat back on the hook, making sure there wasn't a drop of water on it. "He said I was absolved from swearing and living with you was penance enough for any sin I will commit." With that, she stalked off, hips swinging as she mounted the stairs.

"Genevieve." The knight was now contemplating the pear in his hand. She stopped on the landing above. "Do you trust me?" Her silence was frightening and it caused his gut to clench.

"Do I have a choice?" 

Slowly, he looked up at her, his eyes a stormy grey to match the day outside. His very stance oozed arrogance. "That is not an answer."

Genevieve's eyes locked with his. "Yes, I do." 

Guy never looked down. "We are friends?" 

This brought Genevieve up. Somehow, she had the feeling that 'friends' to this man meant something wholly different that what 'friends' meant back home and she didn't want to commit to an admission of anything until she knew exactly what he meant by 'friends'. 

"We'll have to work on that." 

She heard his snort and saw his lop-sided grin. With a nod of his head, effectively dismissing her, he turned his gaze to the renewing rain and continued to eat the fruit in his hand. The sound of his teeth sinking into the flesh of the produce echoed into the rafters.

How long Genevieve watched him, she didn't know. But eventually, she returned to her room, exhaustion over-coming her. As she crawled on top of the bed, she discovered her forgotten iPad and notebook laid by the pillow. The notebook was opened and what would become his familiar archaic scrawl was etched at the bottom of her notes. 

**_They want stock from retirement packages and for yew to paye. OHTTFN? Tell them noe. Parte II, yew maye not compete or goe into business of architecture thirty years in United States or Europe. What is United States? What is this writing sticke I am using? Nice._**

 

No compete? For thirty years? Anywhere? Unless she moved to China, but who wanted to move to China? Flipping the notebook, she saw where the man had painstakingly written out - translated - what was in the addendum. Sure enough, in long-winded, obscure... legel-ease...

_Upon completion of sale, seller agrees to abstain from competition within the business... to ensure absence of conflict of interest, seller will not employ... seller will not establish new contacts... seller will not establish new clients... seller will abandon contacts...seller will not employ or consult with any other firm..._

_...seller will not... seller will not... seller will not..._

No compete. No going back into business. No bidding on anything. Not even working for another architecture firm for thirty years. Just in case her new firm 'accidentally' competes with Ficklebutte. What the hell was she supposed to do for a living? 

Why did they want her out of the business?

_This can't be right._

Genevieve grabbed her iPad. Certainly there was a mistake, he made a mistake, he didn't see.... she pressed and pressed.

The battery in the iPad was dead.

****

~~~...~~~ 

_The night was cold. Not bitter cold, but cold, nonetheless. From nowhere, a sweater was draped over her shoulders._

_"Thanks, Val."_

_"You're welcome, chickie-poo"_

_For a time, the two looked into the night, watching the sky. "You know, Val, when I was a girl," Genevieve whispered, "my grandmother would lay out in the back yard with me and point out all of the constellations." She pointed to the northeast. "That's Andromeda." Her finger continued to float from star to star. "And that's Pisces..." her voice drifted off. "Tell me the truth, Val. Am I dead?"_

_"No honey. You're not dead."_

_"Is this all a drug-induced dream?"_

_"This here," Val's hand encompassed the hamlet below them, "is a dream. The life you are living in Locksley, is not." She waited for Genevieve to digest that information. "Your body is there. Your mind is here."_

_They watched as an ethereal child ran through the village, laughing._

_"Alternative universe?"_

_"Alternative time."_

_"I'm alive there and I'm really living this here?" Genevieve dropped her hand and looked at the ageless woman. "You swear."_

_Two fingers up. "Angel's word."_

_Genevieve stared at her, before snorting. "You. An angel. Yeah, right."_

_Val shrugged._

_"I was in a wreck, wasn't I?"_

_"Yes, chickie-poo."_

_"A bad one?"_

_"Very bad." Val reached over and hugged her close. "You are lucky to be alive. Someone on the corner with a clear head stayed with you until the ambulance came. Made sure you were immobilized. Probably saved your life."_

_"Do you know who he was?"_

_"Yes. He's been thanked."_

_Genevieve's attention returned to the sky. "Does Gramma know?"_

_Val exhaled. "Yes. She is sitting with you now. Your attorney sent a car for her."_

_"George?"_

_"He wanted to fly her down as it would have been faster, but she won't have anything to do with those-"_

_"Shiny, fangled planes!" Both women laughed._

_Again, the two women contemplated the sky._

_"Has Lamar-"_

_"No."_

_"Oh."_

_"Does he know?"_

_"Yes. Most certainly. You made the front page of the Atlanta Journal-Constitution. And the late night news on all four television stations."_

_"Oh.""_

_A finger lifted her chin. "Are you fretting over him?"_

_Genevieve scowled and tore her face from her friend's gentle touch. "Not as much as I thought I would."_

_"Good."_

_"Of course," she continued, "I have Leather-clad Sex Walking keeping my hormones occupied!"_

_Again, the woman put her arm around Genevieve and pulled her close. "You let Leather-clad Sex Walking keep them occupied. You enjoy him as much as he'll let you." She nodded. "Val's orders."_

_"Val!" Genevieve was truly exasperated. "I can't fall in love with him."_

_"Why not?" The woman was focusing on the small, rough cottages across the pond. "He's unattached, has all of his teeth, he's the right age. You said yourself, he's sex-walking."_

_"Val!"_

_Val wiggled her head. "He's quite virile and I promise you, there are things you're curious about, that he would be equally curious in exploring if the subject was brought up correctly So explore!!" She wagged her eyebrows. "You have no secrets from me."_

_"Fine!" Genevieve was quite put out. "Then you know that I'm rebounding and so is he!"_

_Val's attention now seemed to be riveted elsewhere. "Then the two of you should be perfect together."_

_Genevieve growled in frustration. Her level-headed office manager, who managed her life to utter efficiency, was advocating she engage in a silly, no-hope for it sexual relationship. And suggesting she go as far to fall in love with him..._

_...and tell him she wanted him to tie her up???_

_"Your attorney is holding off Ficklebutte. They want to go through with the sale, even though you are unconscious in the hospital."_

_Again, this brought Genevieve up short. "George? His secretary called me before the wreck. His wife died and he's expected to be out some weeks."_

_"So I heard and I authorized the firm to send a spray to the funeral." Genevieve nodded her agreement. "As for Ficklebutte, I received word from George's office that all correspondence from Ficklebutte was to be handed over to them. Apparently, he's being a real hard-nose." She shifted gears. " How is work on your contract coming along?"_

_There were dreaming children fishing in the pond. "Not good. They want the stock, mine and what's in the retirement packages and they want me to reimburse the retirement packages for the stock." Genevieve plucked a piece of straw from the thatched roof and began to twirl it in her fingers. She didn't want to disclose the no compete notes Guy had written until she saw them herself. "There's more, but the battery on my iPad is dead." Genevieve was watching the barn, where the specter of that nosy horse was making his way out. A beautiful young woman was saddling him. She watched as the woman mounted him and rode him around the pond, up and down the paths..._

_"Is it? That shouldn't be." Val sounded distracted. "Give me a day or two and turn it on again."_

_"You can charge my iPad?"_

_"I can do most anything." She leaned over and smiled at Genevieve. "I know people."_

_Genevieve was giggling. "That's why I brought you with me." She continued to watch the woman and the horse. "I don't recall seeing that woman." They watched for a few moments longer. "She's hazier than the others."_

_"Because it isn't the woman's dream. It's the horse's dream." Val seemed to enjoy the shock on Genevieve's face. "Yes, animals dream. Normally short bursts. This-" she nodded to the horse, "is rather unusual."_

_"He probably misses the exercise. Guy has turned him out to pasture."_

_"How long has it been since you rode, Genevieve?"_

_She thought back to her sweet mare, Pattycake. She had been the color of sautéed butter, black mane and tail, and her best friend from childhood. "Not since my mare died after I moved to Atlanta."_

_"Perhaps, tomorrow, you should ride him. As you said, he probably misses the exercise."_

_"He's Lady Marian's horse. If I saddled him up, much less asked for permission, Guy would probably lose a nut."_

_"Well," Val retorted jovially, "he has two."_

_Genevieve slid down the roof a good foot, laughing so hard. Finally, she got a hold of her self._

_"Val? Why are we sitting on Locksley Manor's roof?"_

_"The better to spy on people's dreams," she responded wickedly._

_"Ah, we're voyeurs now."_

_"Yep!" She pointed across the pond. "Look."_

_A ghost-like figure of a young girl, not quite gracing womanhood wandered between the buildings. She was joined by a young man, the two of them dancing around the skeletal Maypole._

_"Oh, that's Eleanor. Who's she dancing with?"_

_"Do you really want to know?" Genevieve nodded enthusiastically. "The young man was one she had a crush on for the last few years. He became an outlaw in Hood's gang. He is now in the Holy Land, married to the Saracen girl who was also in the gang for a time."_

_Genevieve watched now in sadness. The priest had mentioned a Saracen woman. "Oh. She's pining."_

_"It has a happy ending. She will marry the woodcarver's son, who will love her and they will be very happy for many years."_

_Quietly, they watched as more children ran through the town square, oblivious to each other._

_"This is really weird, Val."_

_"Who said life was normal?"_

_Genevieve looked hard at her friend. Val was staring over the town, into the woods, watching the trees sway gently "No, really, Val. According to you, the real me is laid up in a hospital bed... Crawford Long or Piedmont?"_

_"Grady. Superior trauma unit."_

_True that._

_A few of the trees in the forest were now shaking harder, something large moving through the woods._

_"So I'm there and I'm here. That's just weird. My face is okay, isn't it?"_

_Val smiled and turned slowly to her. "You vain thing. I wondered when you would ask. Broken left leg, shattered hip joint, left side, two broken ribs, five cracked ribs, punctured lung, broken left hand, cracked shoulder, cracked clavicle."_

_"But my face is okay?"_

_The smile and snicker were a welcome sight. "Your face is fine. You have a lot of pins and screws in you and you'll be walking with help for a long time. There will be a lot of physical therapy in your future."_

_"Joy. If my physical therapist-" She was interrupted by a roar, a ripping and cracking of wood._

_"GISBORNE!"_

_To Genevieve's horror and dismay, Guy materialized in front of the church, another man, in rough clothing came crashing from the woods, pulling trees up by their roots. In the blink of an eye, the pond disappeared and both men were facing off, the forest-man with bow and arrows; Guy with a broadsword._

_They circled each other, obviously taunting the other..._

_"That is Robin Hood."_

_"I figured that." For a moment, Genevieve took her eyes off the two men, battling it out in the square and noticed her friend was starting to fade. "Why do they hate each other? Whose dream is this?"_

_"It is Guy's nightmare." Val's voice was growing faint. "It is why he drinks although it no longer helps him sleep. Those two have good reason to hate each other, for each has stolen something dear and precious from the other." Her voice became softer. "Guy's demons haunt him; every wrong he's ever committed, every sin dogs him. Things he didn't do, but blames himself for, trouble him. He blames himself for something he did not do and it mars his entire look on his life. He thinks only death will release him, Genevieve. You must convince him he has much to live for." With that, Val faded completely from sight._

_Genevieve refocused on the fight before her. Guy was good, but as time went on, he slowed down, became sluggish, Hood feeding off his exhaustion. Inching towards the edge of the thatched roof for a better look, Genevieve discovered the reason why Guy's movements were hampered was due to the heavy leather he was wearing, his arms weighted with chains. She could hear the clanking, rattling of them as the fight progressed._

_At some point, Hood's weapon changed to that of what she gathered was an Arabian blade. It was a cruel, wicked sword, curved and obviously sharp. When rent through the air, the sound it made caused Genevieve's skin crawl._

_Guy ducked several times, the scimitar missing him by inches, before he lost his footing and fell to his knees. Bent over, with his neck exposed, Genevieve heard him scream clearly, 'Just end it! End my misery!'_

_With the blade held in front of him, Hood moved to the side, lining up the blade to Guy's neck._

_Guy didn't move, just knelt there... waiting._

_Realizing if she didn't do something... NOW... Genevieve would have the grizzly front row view of Guy's beheading. She jumped to her feet, and began to scream at the top of her lungs. "NO! STOP! DON'T DO IT! NOOOO!"_

_Hood looked up, fury on his features, before his entire being, sword and all, winked out and disappeared._

_'Oh God, oh God oh God...'_

_Rather than dissipate himself, Guy's face jerked up towards the roof. With a single bound, he leapt on the thatch, causing Genevieve to step up and backwards._

_"You!" His look was thunderous, black..._

_Furious..._

_Evil..._

_His broadsword was out, backing her up the roof. "Why? Why did you stop him?"_

_"'I...I... couldn't watch... I couldn't let him... I couldn't..."_

_"Genevieve!"_

_"I couldn't let him... I...I..."_

_Throwing his sword down, he reached out and grabbed her arms._

_"Genevieve! What were you doing?"_

_"I couldn't do nothing... I couldn't... just watch..."_

_He began to shake her violently. "Genevieve!"_

****

~~~...~~~ 

"Genevieve! Wake up!"

"I couldn't...Oh God... I couldn't watch him..."

"GENEVIEVE!" 

By the time she opened her eyes, she was gasping for breath. The room was dark and stuffy. "I couldn't watch him, I couldn't...Guy?" The vices released her arms and the weight on the bed shifted as he rose. "NO!" She reached out and grasped empty air. "Please don't leave me!"

"I am not leaving." There was a rustle and the fire in her fireplace slowly roared to life, casting a glow about the room. Using the long taper on the mantle, Guy lit a candle lamp and returned to the bed, sinking down on the edge and after setting the candle on the night stand, pulled her towards him. He squeezed her shoulders inwards, forcing her to look up at him. 

He was disheveled, bleary-eyed. He had either thrown his clothes on haphazardly, or he had been sleeping in them. 

Genevieve guessed the latter. 

She was still hyper-ventilating. It had been so real. "I couldn't watch. I couldn't watch. I'm sorry, but I just... couldn't..." 

She was unaware when he put his arms around her, pulling her close, one huge hand encompassing the back of her head and pressing her to his shoulder, while cradling her beneath his chin. "You could not watch what?"

"I couldn't watch him kill you. I couldn't watch it." At this point, she began to cry, tears falling freely. "I couldn't just stand by and... and... let it... happen! I couldn't do nothing! I just couldn't."

All the while, until she cried herself out, Guy held her secure and rocked her like a small child, keeping his dismayed thoughts to himself.

_How in the name of God did she get into and witness my nightmare?_

****

~~~...~~~ 

****

Better rock together 

****

~~~...~~~ 

_tbc_

_Ut purus non habes, an mulier quaedam erat in caveam gradu sis fur , Etiam potest diabolus sit amet servire Domino sed quis es -_

_You might have drugs at your command, women in a cage You may be a business man or some high degree thief Well, it may be the devil or it may be the Lord But you're gonna have to serve somebody_

_Gonna Serve Somebody - Bob Dylan._


	9. 8 - Love is not rude

Yes, I am posting early. I have access to a computer and I'm taking advantage. 

Don't get used to this. I won't get a return authorization for 2 more days and then it will be 7 to 10 days before I get Gizzy (My brand new laptop with the crapped out motherboard) back...

_**Manna from Heaven** _

_**Chapter 8** _

_**Love is not rude** _

Guy sat at the table, staring morosely at the trencher.

His servants stood around as if they were at a funeral. 

"Will Lady Genevieve be coming down to break her fast, my lord?" Guy looked up from the plate, to see his steward hovering anxiously over the table. 

With a heavy sigh, Guy picked up his fork. "I doubt it, Thornton."

_Eggs... sausage... fresh bread... his servants didn't bother this much for him..._

"Is she unwell, Sir Guy?" 

He supposed he should glare. It was only right as that is what he would normally do, but after the night he'd spent, Guy simply didn't have the heart for it. "Lady Genevieve had a difficult evening," he muttered, finally spearing his sausage. "I will check on her before I leave; otherwise, allow her to sleep." Breakfast was finished in relative silence.

She had fallen asleep just before the sun rose, alternatively crying and napping fitfully, refusing to turn him loose until she finally wore herself out. Even after he laid her down and covered her, he remained on the edge of her bed, simply watching her breathe.  
 _  
How did she get into my nightmare? Why was she in my dream?_

Question now was, should he broach the subject? Ignore and avoid it; simply not mention it? Act as if it was her nightmare and not his?  
 _  
The mere thought of my imminent death bothered her; upset her. When did I matter so much to someone? My own mother wouldn't leave an injured man long enough to plead for me. Only my father's timely arrival..._

Once, almost a lifetime ago, Marian had stepped up, risking herself, and ultimately risking her father's life, to save his; threatened the life of the metal-worker from Africa, to save his. By the same swing of the sword, she ensured Hood's life as well, managed to destroy the secret of the impenetrable armor and ran off the only man in Europe who could create such a so-called splendid armor. Since the debacle in the Holy Land, Guy had come to the conclusion that Marian set out to save Robin, and his own rescue was just a lucky by-blow and excuse.   
_  
I was just a girl... I despise Robin Hood..._

_...I love Robin Hood..._

_Maybe she did. Maybe, she had. Did Marian ever even care a little bit for him, Guy of Gisborne?_

_The only reason you paid me any attention was to feed information to my enemy._

_Perhaps. Perhaps not. Why did it matter anymore?_

Why dwell on it? Why allow this demon to eat at his gut? There was no hope...

But if there was no hope, why did he strive to survive, day after day? Why had he taken up John's banner over the sheriff's? Politics? Politics was for fools! More power? More prestige? Why bother if there was no hope?

It still left him with the sinking feeling in his gut that Genevieve had somehow invaded his nightmare, watched it from the roof of his own home and managed, through her own fear for his life, to stop Hood from completing that which he sought so desperately at times. 

"Good morning."

Guy was rousted from his musings, shocked to see her standing there. She looked tired, wrung out with dark circles around her eyes. It dawned on him if he looked _this_ bad in the mornings, small wonder Thornton was putting things in his morning drink. He rose and pulled her chair from the table. "I did not expect to see you." 

"One can just lie in the bed for so long and watch mice fall from the thatch and into the bed curtains." She snarled as if in pain, before sinking into the chair and scooting forward. "Now I know why canopy beds were created. Little girls would not desire them so much. Thank you."

Eggs and sausage made their way in front of her and her stomach lurched at the sight. "'I'm sorry, Thornton," Genevieve spoke up lamely, "I don't think my stomach can handle anything right now." The steward reached for her goblet and poured some of Guy's drink into it. "I don't have a hang over. I just had a horrible night." 

"Drink it, anyway." His eyes were full of sympathy.

She waited until the man took his place against the wall. "Really, Guy. A family of mice fell on the bed curtains above me. They ran back up into the straw, but it completely freaked me out." 

Guy watched her as she swirled her drink, only to stare into the depths miserably. "I suppose 'freaked you out' means it frightened you?" He watched as she nodded her head, still considering the flecks of whatever floating in her earthen goblet. He stood up, pushing his trencher away. As he stepped away from the table, he leaned over to whisper in her ear, "Rest today. Leave your ... work... be." For a moment, his hand lingered on her shoulder, before he nodded to Thornton to join him by the door. As he buckled himself into his jacket, he whispered to the servant, "The rodents in the thatch are falling into the lady's bed curtains. See to it."

"I will bring some of the barn cats up, sir." 

Genevieve listened half-interested in the whispered conversation behind her, understanding none of it; simply crisp and hissing consonants in the air. She was shocked to see Joffrey kneeling next to her. "I'm t'go with Sir Guy today. Michael the Red is stayin' wit' you. You'll be okay?" His very plain but humble face had deep worry lines etched in it.

"I'm fine," she tried to smile. "I just didn't sleep well, is all." The young man nodded once before patting her hand and standing to leave.

There was the usual noise and bustle when Guy and his men-at-arms left the village and thundered towards Nottingham. 

And then for a long time - at least it felt like a long time to Genevieve - it was strangely silent in Locksley.

It made her very uneasy.

_**~~~...~~~** _

The Sheriff appeared to be in a quiet, pensive mood this day. It always seemed he was calm and lost in thought after a long rainstorm. Thinking on it, Gisborne decided if it rained for the rest of the man's days, he would happily live with it.

"GISBORNE!" Guy snapped to attention.

"Yes, my lord?"

Vaisey looked up at him over his shoulder. "You are yawning. Are you bored?" 

It was out of his mouth before he thought. "I had a long night." 

The smile on Vaisey's face was evilly gleeful. "Lady Genevieve! Is she sporting?" He looked away in time to miss Guy's eye roll. "I love sport! Speaking of sport, do we have anyone to hang today?"

There was the farmer, nabbed for shooting a deer in Sherwood Forest. It was his third time caught; he was missing a hand from the last time caught. He swore he was trying to feed his family...

_You want the truth? The truth is, this country is being choked to death; the truth is, honest people are being forced to lie and cheat and steal and if you really want to know the truth..._

Many times since the Holy Land, he often wondered what it is Marian was going to say after that. Before the necklace magically reappeared.

_… if you really want to know the truth..._

Guy squeezed his eyes, anything to shut Marian's voice up. Since when did she become his conscious? 

_Because you squashed yours years ago, Guy. Sat on it and shat on it until it is scared to move, much less utter a sound._

"Gisborne," Vaisey's voice was cajoling, almost a lullaby. "Is the new leper wearing on your nerves already?" He stood up, the chair scraping back with a sound that set Guy's teeth on edge. "All this rain, the two of you stranded in that manse together... you're a handsome, virile, strapping man." Again, he smiled up at the dark knight. "Rumor has it, she's quite pretty, even with her hair shorn. So pretty you are keeping a watch on her when you're not there. I would like to think," and with this the man poked Guy in the shoulder, making him snarl, "the two of you were rocking your bed through - out the rainstorm. But you were not, were you?" His smile fell into a knowing smirk. "Losing your touch, Gisborne?" He snapped his fingers. "Perhaps, we can find the servant girl who had your baby! What was her name?" 

_Annie. Her name was Annie and she had lips that tasted of honey..._

"I do not remember, my lord." 

"You don't?" The man actually tsked. "I remember all four women who claimed I impregnated them." He waved his hand in the air. "Wanted to make sure the gravestones were spelled correctly." This admission actually caused Guy's gut to clench.

_'Guy, how shocking!'_ Marian's voice was almost jovial. _'Your stomach rolled! There is human still left within you!'_

Vaisey continued on, unhearing Guy's inner torment. "We should find her. You obviously liked her enough, if you cannot manage to get little Lady Lost-My-Memory to acquiesce. That is, unless," he turned on Guy, a finger in the air, "you've lost your taste for women, completely? If that's the case, we can find you a-"

"My lord, if you please, I would like to go to the training yard and put the off-duty guards through their paces." Guy knew where this conversation was heading and the last thing he wanted was to listen to Vaisey list his perversions. "I am certain the rain has left them lazy and slow."

_'What are your perversions, Guy? You have them, you know you do. Those fantasies of yours.'_

Without waiting to hear a response, Guy chugged up the steps, making as much noise as possible, his spurs ringing against the wood. He slammed the door, harder than necessary, leaving Vaisey snickering in the gloom.

"Oh, we hit a nerve, didn't we, Gizzy?" The sheriff was whispering and nodding to himself, watching the door that Gisborne just stormed out of. "I think your new little leper friend is all under your skin and you are still too chivalrous to act on your desires. Which is why," the man reached into a bowl and pulled up an over-ripe apple, "you will never amount to much of anything without me." 

He bit into the skin, breaking his fake tooth.

Guy headed quickly down the hall, his fury mounting. Lost his taste in women... not hardly. In recent weeks, his fantasy lover had non-descript features... sometimes a brunette, sometimes blonde. No facial features. He preferred them bound, tied in silk, stretched... he didn't desire their touch, they weren't Her, couldn't compare... they didn't smell like Her, sound like Her, look like Her...

_'But Guy, you killed me. Remember? And I didn't want you..._

He came around the corner and almost ran into Joffrey, patrolling guard duty in the middle of nowhere. "Go down to the barracks, gather the guards and take them to the training field to spar!" Guy's growl was harsh, guttural. "And find out which one of my men is whispering in the sheriff's ear!" 

Joffrey was off like a shot arrow down the hallway.

Guy looked around, getting his bearings. He had roamed, furiously, aimless, once out of the main hall. Discerning where he was, he turned to the left and within a few minutes, stood outside the door to his personal rooms here at the castle. He opened the door to a stale environment that had not been cleaned in who knows how long. The bed was unmade, the linens and pillows still in a wad from the last time he spent the night here, how many weeks... months... ago? He turned and bolted the door, loosed and removed his buckler and sword. He set them gently on the bed before unbuckling his mailed jerkin - dear God, it was heavy - and dropping it in the floor where he stood, he climbed into the bed and fell asleep.

_**~~~...~~~  
** _

After forcing down a few bites of congealed eggs, Genevieve retreated to her room and attempted to lie down, nap, anything. Every time she started to nod off, her body jerked, her mind relieving that horrible scene of Guy kneeling with his neck exposed, begging Hood to end it. She got up and began to pace. She couldn't pinpoint what upset her the most; the fact that Guy was so ready for death or the initial look of fury on his face when she halted the 'execution'.

_Her grandmother used to tell her if a person died in their dreams, they died in real life. If Guy had died, what would have happened to her?_

_Oh, THAT'S a selfish thought!_

Yes, selfish and self-centered, but natural. What would happen to her if something befell her benefactor? Would she be allowed to stay here? Would someone new be assigned as the Lord of Locksley? If that happened, would he be as...

Well, Guy wasn't kind, puh-leeze! But she knew who and what he was. Best to know the adversary you have than break in a new adversary. In boredom and habit, she pulled her iPad from her gym bag and pressed the power switch. It flickered, but promptly died. 

At least it flickered. 

_Val is working on it. She said give it a day or two._

She dropped it back into her gym bag and wandered over to the window, pulling back the shutters. The sun was out, the air was nippy, but it was bright, cloudless... 

There was absolutely nothing to do!

_This is awful! What did women in this time do in their leisure time?_

Well, for one thing, the peasants worked. They had no leisure time. Their lives must be drudgery! Whether it be in the home or at the manse or in the castle... she watched as Eleanor walked from the barn, carrying a basket of eggs. If Genevieve's teenaged romances were correct, high-born ladies were expected to sew and sing and paint. Sit in a solar and gossip about knights and their troubadours and their dresses! 

What a wretched existence! The printing press still had 250 years before it was invented! That meant the only book in town was probably the Holy Writ at the small church and chances were good, it was in Latin. Genevieve continued to stare out into the empty pasture.  
 _  
The empty pasture.._.

Dear God, the horses hadn't been let out. That meant that beautiful, nosy, dreaming stallion, who so badly needed exercise, was still in his stall in the barn. With a gleeful yip, Genevieve bounced to her bed, grabbing her tennis shoes and socks. 

_I need air, I need air, I need air..._

She tore to the door and feeling as giddy as a teenager, she jumped on the banister and slid approximately six inches when she realized the wood was rough and if she continued on her journey, she would have a butt full of splinters. By now, Thornton, Eleanor and she supposed Michael the Red were watching her in horror as she leapt from the third step and dashed out the door.

It dawned on Michael that he was supposed to be watching her, so he ran out behind her. Being a much larger man and having a wider girth, by the time he caught up with her in the barn, Genevieve had a saddle blanket tossed over the stallion's back and was hauling down a saddle from the saddle rack.

"Lady Genevieve, I'm thinkin' you shouldn't do that." He tried to take her arm. "Come back to the manse, please."

"And do what?" she retorted, pulling her arm from his gentle grasp. She was hoping this man was a teddy bear. If not, she was in huge trouble. 

Well, she would be in trouble if Guy caught her out on his fiancé's horse. 

"I... whatever it is ladies do."

"Would you mind enlightening me exactly what it is ladies do? I don't quite remember." 

"Don't make me carry you back." It was a gently put request. No bite to it at all. 

"Michael, do you like horses?" 

His eyes darted back and forth. "Yes." 

"Do you love them?"

He was too flabbergasted to answer. 

Genevieve put a gentle hand on his arm. "I love horses. Really. Grew up with them. My last horse died a few years ago and I've not had the heart to purchase another one. Her name was Pattycake and she was the sweetest mare. I miss her. This stallion," she nodded over to the horse she was saddling, "is pining for exercise, for excitement. He's been either left in a stall or put to pasture. That's not good for him." 

The man stood there, in deep thought. What she was saying was true, but...

"Is Sir Guy the type to maltreat his horses?"

"NO!" This brought the quiet, reticent archer out of his silence. "Sir Guy has the kindest, gentlest hand with his beasts! It's just this one-" he stopped short, almost in shock at what he almost uttered. 

"This one belonged to her," Genevieve finished for him. "He belonged to the woman Sir Guy loved, didn't he?" Michael's silence answered the question. "What would she think, that her beloved horse was left languishing in a stall because no one had the heart to ride him?" By now, Genevieve had her arm around the stallion's neck, her other hand stroking the velvet nose. "I think she would be heart-broken. I think this big fella misses her very much and would love to go out for a good run. What about it, big guy? Wanna go for a ride? Get some real air?" As if understanding, the stallion nickered once, ruffling Genevieve's hair. She returned her attention to the guardsman. "If you wish to stop me, you'll have to tie me up. I'd love to be around when you explain that to Sir Guy. Or you can saddle up and go with us. Sir Guy won't be back until dinner and we'll be back by then. What do you say?" 

Michael was seriously contemplating her words. 

It dawned on Genevieve that perhaps she had said too much about her past. "I loved horses; I remember that much! Maybe a good ride will help me remember where I'm from."

A few minutes later, Michael and Genevieve led their steeds into the main thoroughfare and took off down the road at a canter.

_**~~~...~~~** _

Guy woke from his nap with a headache. It happened every time he took a mid-day nap, but the truth was, it was the only real sleep he got anymore. It was if his demons and tormentors saved their hellish torture for the night time hours and allowed his skull free rein in the day. It was truly a no-win situation.

With no one to hang, no one to tax to death and nothing to do, Guy decided staying in Nottingham was a waste of his time. He could go home and be just as bored, without the Sheriff pestering him about Genevieve or Marian. From the sounds of it, his men were half-heartedly going through their paces in the bailey. 

Usually, it wasn't that much.

With the room still smelling stale, he threw the window open, allowing in the fresh air. It was cool, the promise of near frost in the air that evening. As Guy retrieved his heavy jacket from the floor where he slung it, it dawned on him Genevieve had less to cover her as the temperature dropped. 

Yet again, he found himself in Marian's rooms. He had been through the trunk; he knew what he searched for was not in it. Going to the small alcove around the fireplace, he found a clothing rack with the cloak neatly hung on one of the bars. It was the color of heavy cream, the fur collar weighting it. As he pulled it from the rack, he noticed with satisfaction that the large broach Marian used to keep it closed at her throat was attached. 

_Will you give her my jewelry as well?_ Marian's voice hissed through the cracks in the walls. _What about my bed? Will you give her it? Will you take her in it like-_

Guy growled in frustration. These... demons... took on different voices at different times, taunting him, torturing, eating at his very soul.

_Didn't love me very much, did you? Replacing me so soon..._

"Shut it!" Gisborne hissed between his teeth. "Just. Shut. It!"

_And here I thought you loved me..._  
 _  
 **"I SAID SHUT! IT!"** _ The knight's angered voice echoed through the room, ringing up into the rafters. He realized his hands were about his ears, the heels of his palms pressing into the rims. He had dropped the cloak; the heavy wool, pooled at his feet. "Just shut it. Please."

_Poooooor Guy._

It dawned on him to beg, to plead... _I am sorry, so sorry. What can I do to atone, to bring you back_... "Tell me how. How do I undo this?" 

_Diiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeee...._

Somewhere, a small kernel of his soul balked at the thought. For the first time, he fought back against the demon with Marian's voice.

"No. I will not appease you thus."

He bent down, grabbing the cloak from the floor. Slinging it over his arm, he stormed to the door, striding into the hallway and ignoring the guards and few serving girls who obviously heard his vented fury.

His demons were no longer content to persecute him in the deep watches of the night. But perhaps, it wasn't a demon hounding him here. Perhaps, it was simply Marian's ghost...

_**~~~...~~~** _

For the first time since she arrived, Genevieve left the hamlet proper. She and Michael entered the forest, into cooler, cleaner air. No chamber pot stench, no outdoors sewer stink. No old cooking smells, no enclosed air, no people sweat... well there was Michael, but he was downwind where she couldn't really smell him. This time, this culture had no idea what daily scented soap or antiperspirant was.

Genevieve laughed, her voice echoing through the trees. For the first time in months, she felt free, energized, and rejuvenated. She looked over to her nervous guard. "Michael! Catch me!" 

And she put her heels to the stallion, taking off.

_**~~~...~~~** _

Guy was close to the portcullis when he heard his name. He recognized the voice and turned sullenly. The clothier, Isandra, was walking briskly, her face red with exertion to catch up to him. "Sir Guy." She thrust a package at him. "Here."

He looked down at the rather small brown parcel, bound with a thin, hemp tie-rope. "This is it, woman?" He lifted it with one hand, balanced on two fingers and a thumb. "There should be more here for two or three-"

"In her case, cherie," the woman interrupted snidely, "nine." Guy's jaw dropped. "She is a savvy customer, to create nine dresses for price of three!" She elbowed him in the arm. "You should marry her, she would take better care of the house and people." Isandra then pointed at the package. "One tunic is finished. By itself, it should suit her, considering how she is dressed now. The rest will be finished tomorrow or Saturday, as promised." She turned to leave, but retorted over her shoulder. "She might not be your mademoiselle, but she should be. Dress her as if she is." With that last retort that several people over heard, the woman disappeared into the crowd. 

Guy watched as the dressmaker vanished, blended in with the rest of the merchants and stall-goers, before inspecting the package again. An under dress? Part of an outfit that if what she hinted at could be considered enough for one outfit...

Three tunics and three kirtles would make nine different outfits... 

Guy looked down at his boots and smirked. Either he had been had or Genevieve was yes - a very smart female.

_**~~~...~~~** _

Michael eventually caught up with her, but only because Genevieve slowed enough to allow it. With a grin, she took off again, the guard following close on her heels. She hunkered down tight to the stallion's neck, reveling in the wind in her face, the bunch of the equine's muscles beneath her legs.

Suddenly, an arrow shot from the trees, embedding itself in another tree across the path. A narrow, almost invisible rope was stretched taut across the road. Genevieve flew beneath it, not noticing it was there, but it caught Michael across the chest, casting him to the ground. His horse, now unencumbered by the man’s weight, flew like the wind, catching up with Genevieve. She came to a halt when she realized her guard had become unhorsed. Clicking her tongue, she snatched the destrier's trailing reins and turned around. "Michael?" Nothing. She raised her voice. "MICHAEL! Are you alright?"

"RUN!" There was a thwack and then the thud of a body falling.

Now, she was afraid. Genevieve started to turn, continue running down the dirt road, but she had no idea where it led to. What if there were more brigands further down? Looking around, she realized the woods to her right was a thicket, heavily bushed and would give decent cover. She slid from her horse's back and taking both leads, tip-toed into the brush.

_**~~~...~~~** _

"Who is the fine lady, Michael?"

The guard glared up at Hood and spat at him. Little John thumped him on the back with his staff. Not hard, but enough to get his attention.

Robin squatted in front of the much larger man. "Come on, Michael. We trained together, years ago. Tell me who-" A twig snapped. It got very quiet as everyone listened. Michael opened his mouth to yell again, but he was thumped again, knocking him out. Hood pointed to Kate and wordlessly sent her around to the left to investigate. It was very quiet...

There was a thud, leaves disturbed and then...

A slap of flesh meeting flesh, screeching, yelling...

"BITCH!" 

_*slap*_

"Get yer 'ands outta m'hair."

_*slap*_  
  
"Oh, y'dirty witch-"

"Oooh," Allan perked up. "Cat-fight." He turned to Much. ""Are yew a bettin' man?"

"What?" The sounds in the thicket intensified as the two women went at it.

"Half a crown on Ka-" There was a sound of a fist meeting a body part. Kate howled. "Giz's lady." 

Tuck rolled his eyes and headed into the thicket. There were screams, hollers, a few 'turn me loose,' 'get off', and one 'unhand me!' from both women, before the large friar burst from the bushes, a struggling woman in each hand. He handed Kate to Much. "Hold her." Without being told twice, Much put both hands around the woman, holding her tight. She had a welt on her cheekbone that would most likely bruise by the evening.

Genevieve was still struggling, using her free hand to slap at the man holding her. "Allan, go get their horses." He shoved Genevieve down in the dirt, next to Michael, who was just coming around. "Please stay put," the man admonished her. "We'll not harm you."

"Easy for you t' say!" Kate was struggling, putting Much through his paces. "I'm gonna kick 'er-"

"Kate," Robin's voice was soft and he waved her down. "You attacked her and she fought back." He squatted in front of Genevieve. "Hello there. You're Gisborne's lady."

"I'm his guest!" she spat. 

"Lady Genevieve!" Michael was sitting up, rubbing his head. "Don't tell 'im anythin'!" 

"Ah. Lady Genevieve." The woman was staring mutinously at the man. Trying to school her features, she was shocked, terrified.

This was the man who tried to kill Guy in his nightmare. 

She already hated him.

Hood seemed unaware that the woman in front of him was in the process of hyper-ventilating. "You're not from here, anywhere near here, judging your accent, which is delightful, by the way." Robin gave her his winningest smile, which didn't go far with this particular lady. "One has to wonder why Gisborne has a lady guest?"

"Can't imagine why anyone would wanna stay wit' the git!" 

Genevieve glared at the woman Much was still holding back. "He might be a git to you, but he..." she swallowed hard, noticing the entire gang was staring at her expectantly. "he's been very kind to me."

"Kind?" Hood was incredulous. "Gisborne?" 

"Yeah!" Genevieve was furious. "He found me in the road, unconscious! Everything was stolen except the clothes I had on!" 

"Those clothes?" Damn, if the man wasn't eyeing her with appreciation. "I didn't think Gisborne understood the word 'chivalry.'" 

"And you don't understand the word 'gentleman.'"

There were several 'ooohs' from members of his gang. Robin's smile never wavered. "You're fast. Probably keeps Gisborne spinning like a top."

"No' tha' tha's difficult!" The large man with the staff was behind Michael, ready to hit him again, if necessary. The man had flies buzzing around him and the smell of him caused Genevieve's nose to curl. 

Allan came around the thicket, from where Tuck had exited with the two women. He had both leads in his hands. "Wot now? Thought I recognized 'er horse."

Robin let out a low whistle. "So Gisborne kept this one." He turned back to Genevieve. "You know you're riding a stolen horse."

"Sir Guy bought him! Ain't stolen at all!" Michael took another thump to the back.

Genevieve stared a hole through Robin. "The horse was pining for exercise. According to servants, he has either been left in a stall or put to pasture. So I took him for a ride. Now, if you'll allow me and my escort up-" 

"Not so fast." Hood now stood up. "You say Gisborne found you in the road? Here in the forest?" 

"Yes."

Hood looked at his men. "Have any of you been accosting women and stealing their clothes?" They shook their heads no. 

Genevieve was in a right fury. "Why don't you check your girlfriend! Looks as if she could use a decent thing or two."

This started Kate's struggles anew. "You... you... shrew!" 

"I prefer the term 'bitch.' And I'm 24 karat gold at it, too." 

Much now had his work cut out for him.

"Tell you what," Robin murmured softly. "I'll let you go-"

"Good!" 

"-when you hand me that pretty silver necklace." Genevieve's jaw dropped. "I AM Robin Hood and it will feed a few people."

"NO!" She looked at the friar, the man holding that ... kitchen rat.. "Please! No! It's all I have!" 

"If you're with Gisborne, you're eating well. Others aren't. Hand it over." 

Reluctantly, Genevieve reached behind her neck and undid the clasp. But rather than take it off and hand it to him, she dropped it down in her bra and between her breasts. "No," she spat brazenly.

Abruptly, a sweaty hand reached around her and down into her tunic. With a scream, Genevieve bent over, taking her assailant to the ground with her, but Allan still jumped up with her necklace in his hand. "Got it!" He handed it to Robin, not registering the looks of shock from the rest of the men.

Only Much realized that Gisborne's lady was crying. Real tears and not from the fact Allan had shoved his hand down inside her tunic. This was more than a piece of jewelry to her. It was something deeply precious. "Robin... I don't think..."

Before he could finish, Tuck took the piece from Hood, inspecting the crucifix spinning in the air. "Where did you get this, child?" His hand finally grasped the cross, examining it closely.

"My grandmother." She was sobbing and Robin finally realized how distraught she was. "My grandmother gave it to me. It belonged to her mother. Please don't take it."

For a moment, it was silent in the woods, save for Genevieve's sobbing. Finally...

"We do not take religious pieces from people, Robin." 

"Not normally, but-"

"No." Tuck was firm. "We do not rob pilgrims or nuns or priests or women who have nothing but the kindness of strangers and religious pieces. Especially if they've already been robbed of everything else." He stepped over to Genevieve and dangled the cross in front of her. She snatched it and put it back in her tunic. "And we especially," he was now glaring at Allan, "do not go fishing in women's undergarments, while they are wearing them, to take such items!" 

"Wot?" Allan was completely innocent. "All I did was helpin' to divest 'er of..."

"It's not gentlemanly."

"No, it's not!" Much spoke up, still clutching Kate. "I am... repulsed you would stoop so low as to... well... put your hand... and...and... well... accost her!"

Allan had his hands up. "I'm no' a genl'man an' I'm no' sorry!" 

Little John thumped him in the back of the head. "No. Yer a total idiot is what you are!" 

Tuck held his hand out to Genevieve to help her up. "We did not rob you, my lady. And if Gisborne is being kind to you, then, that's a rarity and one you should be grateful for."

"Watch yourself with Gisborne," Robin added. "You are living with a murderous demon." Michael was now standing as well. "Mount up, both of you and run. Don't look back."

Genevieve was mounted faster than the guard and the two of them turned and put their heels to their steeds. 

"She knows horse," Tuck watched her mount with no help.

"She does ride well." Hood watched as well, "as if she were born to it. Come on. Let's get out of here. If there are thieves besides us in the woods, I want to find them and move them along. And if Gisborne is close by, he'll be on our tails quickly and rumor has it, he doesn't let her far from his sight."

As quickly as they appeared, Hood's gang disappeared and blended into the forest. As they made their way back to camp, Tuck thought hard on Genevieve's version of her arrival. For someone who didn't 'remember' where she came from or who she was, she certainly knew a lot about that crucifix and who gave it to her. The woman had been beyond distraught at the thought of losing it. She also understood horses and while her manner of speech was most unusual and nothing Tuck had ever come across in his travels, she appeared to be intelligent, and she most certainly was not embarrassed by her strange clothing. 

Robin had questioned some of the villagers, including Thornton, who liked her. But Thornton was kind and liked pretty much everyone. Everyone except the Sheriff, but the steward, on occasion, was known to defend Sir Guy, something Tuck strangely understood. The story was the same: Sir Guy returned from Mass in Nottingham the previous Sunday, with the woman unconscious in his lap. She was kind, educated, and stood up for children. 

And vain. She bathed daily and her reaction to Little John proved she disliked or was unused to the smell around her.

And after this afternoon, Tuck decided she would fight for what was hers. It was said she argued with Sir Guy, on occasion, that at times, he started the argument, goaded her to see what her reaction would be. She was feisty, not afraid to back down and Sir Guy seemed to revel in it. 

Which made Lady Genevieve quite the enigma. 

And very much in danger of the sheriff. Wouldn't it be interesting, the man thought to himself, if the reason Sir Guy kept her so close and so well guarded, was to keep her safe from the sheriff? And for what reason would he want to keep her safe?

_**~~~...~~~** _

Gisborne and his men took the long way home, going through several of the towns under his mantle. In his quest to regain the lands stolen from him by Hood as a powerless teenager, he had regained his as well as Hood's, making the revenge that much sweeter.

At least, it _had_ been sweeter, up until he killed Marian. 

Again, he squashed the memory. It was Vaisey's fault. Had he not dragged her to the Holy Land... she had been chained to the bed! Hood and his gang had been staked out in the desert by King Richard, of all people. How on earth had she gotten free, gotten Hood free...

_How on earth had it come to this?_

For the first time in ages, he went through the little hamlet that had been the seat of Gisborne. The burnt ruins of his home had long been cleared away, weeds and trees now marking the spot of the home. He didn't see anyone he recognized, the place holding fewer than half of who lived there before. The small number of those were out were lean, underfed and looked at him with malice. The children, what few there were, were listless; there was no play, no banter...

No joy.

As they left, he saw the hedgerow and for the first time in years, a happy memory assailed him. The hedgerow in the summer, would be covered in honeysuckle and as a child, he would hide from his mother (who he suspected knew where he was all along) and eat the honeysuckle until he was sick to his stomach. She always chided him and still, he licked the 'honey' from the stem with a child-like glee.

"Sir Guy?" 

Gisborne was jolted from his reverie, Joffrey looking at him with much... 

_that better not be pity..._

...worry. "Are you a-right?" 

"I am fine," he hissed. He nudged his horse forward. "Why do you ask?" 

"Sir, you stopped. It were like you went away in your head."

The line of soldiers moved, leaving the village behind, with its sullen children and gloomy atmosphere. As they put trees between them and the town, Guy finally responded. "Just a childhood memory, 'tis all." 

But it was more. A part of him felt responsible; these were his people, his father and mother taught him to stand up for them, to care for them because they looked up to the lord of the manor to protect them, to make sure they had enough.

But these people threw him and his out, forced him away and gave what was his to Hood. They did not deserve his protection, they did not deserve his anything. Guy had been stewing in his anger for over twenty years and he did not see a reason to change his mind. Of all the small towns under his control, this one deserved the least of his care or worry. 

And that was that. 

Yet for some strange reason, he felt... guilty in his resentment, guilty in his hardheartedness. For the first time in years, he feared he was a disappointment to his mother, but mostly, his father. His father had been a hero... his hero, Guy looked up to him. Thomas Gisborne had been a commoner, received his knighthood through service and bravery and was rewarded for...

The Black Knight was jolted out of his musings and brought back to the present by the sound of thundering hoof beats. Signaling his men, they fell into formation and drew their weapons, waiting for the riders to emerge from the corner. He listened carefully and held up two fingers, signifying two riders.

They waited as the galloping horses drew nearer.

Needless to say, Guy and his arms men were shocked when Genevieve, riding Lady Marian's horse and Michael the Red tore around the corner, as if being chased by the very devil himself.

_**~~~...~~~** _

_  
**Never gonna say it first...** _

_**~~~...~~~** _


	10. 09...It does not...

No...it's.not.fixed...but.I.got.some.time.on.Spawn's.computer...enough.to.do.the.edit...

_**Manna from Heaven** _

_**Chapter 09** _

_**It does not...** _

The sound of thunder was overwhelming as the two riders rounded the curve in the woods. Sir Guy and his men stood ready, broadswords out.

The rider in front was familiar - Genevieve was lying over on her mount's neck-

_‘Zeus! She's riding Marian's Zeus!'_

-followed closely by Michael the Red. It became immediately apparent this was no race, no fun ride. They both were looking behind them, seeing if-

"WHOA!" The moment he saw Genevieve, he pulled off one of his gloves. Guy then put his thumb and forefinger to the inner edges of his mouth and let out a shrill whistle.

Hearing a familiar voice, the horse began to slow, looking for his master. Michael also slowed, pulling up in front of Sir Guy.

"When I told you to keep an eye on her," Gisborne spat tersely, "I did not state you were to take her on a tour of Nottingham!"

"Sir," the guard started out with a rush, "you may berate me all y'like later." He pointed over his shoulder. "We've been accosted by Robin Hood-"

At that point, Guy's blood turned to ice. He turned to Genevieve, who had pulled up beside him. Her eyes were red-rimmed and she had a hunted look about her. Pulling his horse around, he yelled loudly, "Follow me. Joffrey, stay here with Lady Genevieve. Do not leave." Remembering what all he was holding onto, he tossed the package at Genevieve, and slung the cloak at Joffrey. "Hold this." With a curt nod of his head, he took off back from where the two had just come from, the guards following in pursuit.

The two that were left behind watched as the soldiers took off down the road, stirring up dust before disappearing. 

They sat for a time, Genevieve's heartbeat beginning to return to a normal rhythm. The temperature was dropping and as a result, she began to shiver.

Joffrey handed her the heavy cloak. "I think this 'un would be for you." 

It took her a few minutes to figure out one side from the other and she had to dismount so Joffrey could help her with the unfamiliar clasp, but she finally got it on. She spread it to admire it. "Oh, this is pretty." Her smile fell. "I'll bet it's one of hers, isn't it?"

Joffrey saw the change in Genevieve's disposition. "Lady Genevieve," he began gently, "I knew Lady Marian - not well, but well enough. She would be grateful that her clothes are bein' used by someone who needs 'em an' that y’cared enough about ‘er horse to make sure ‘e got proper exercise. Besides," he added quietly, "it would take a long time to make a really nice cloak like that an' I think Sir Guy wanted to make sure you didn't go without. Did... did Hood hurt you? Rob you?" 

Before Genevieve could answer, the sound of returning riders could be heard in the distance. Very quickly, they remounted, Genevieve making sure she had a tight grasp on the package Guy had given her to hold. Before long, Guy and his entourage returned, circling them, Guy’s men corralling her securely between the Black Knight and Joffrey. Genevieve discovered herself being pulled closer to the knight as he reached and grabbed the slack reins. Although she could feel, sense his fury, for some odd reason, this act made her feel safer, protected. "Gone. I knew he would be." He sniffed the air. "It seems as if he has a underground hidey hole to slink into; I would not put it past him. Coward!" As he drew Genevieve nearer, she fought the desire to ask him to pull her in his arms, to shelter her. "Are you hurt?"

"Just my pride."

"Did he steal or attempt to steal anything from you?"

She swallowed and her bottom lip began to tremble. "Only my cross. I dropped it down in my... tunic and some... odious creature stuck his hand down the front and took it."

Guy's countenance turned dark. "Do you know who?" He poised this question to Genevieve's guard.

"Allan-a-Dale."

Guy nodded. "And most likely proud of it." Again, he looked at Genevieve. "He did not..." his voice trailed of softly.

"No," her ire was evident. "He didn't grab anything, but my necklace!" 

He sighed in relief. "I am sorry, Genevieve. We probably will not be able to get it back."

"They have a priest with them. He made him give it back."

"Tuck," Guy murmured under his breath. "So you have it still?" Genevieve nodded. "Good." He then turned his full fury on Genevieve's guard. "Where was your brain, taking her into the forest with only yourself to watch over her?"

"Sir, I-"

"Don't blame him, Guy." Genevieve tried to intervene. "I pretty much left him in the dust and by the time he caught up to me, I had this beauty saddled."

"And who gave you permission to ride him?" Guy's eyes had turned a deep gray, wrath raging like a firestorm. Fear for her safety was now gone, as she was out of harm's way, so rage replaced his alarm at what he considered her disobedience "Did you have any idea what were you doing, if you can ride at all? You could have injured him, injured yourself!" 

For the first time since her arrival, despite the spats and yelling between them, Genevieve felt dressed down, backed down and it was not a place she liked to be in. She and Guy had exchanged heated words since her appearance, but never anything like this. She opened her mouth to retort, but then shut it again, because her own temper was rising and she had no idea what would fall out of her mouth. "If we could discuss this in private," she hissed between clenched teeth, "I would be more than happy to tell you what I was doing, prove I was doing it right and that I would not have injured him, much less myself!" 

"I am not a man who listens to excuses!" 

“And I am not a woman to give them!” Genevieve retorted hotly. She sat up as tall as she could. "You asked me to prove what I know and can do! That isn't an excuse! Besides, I was not aware I was a prisoner!"

Neither one was conscious of the guards, eyeing each other nervously beneath their helms. "If you knew how the Sheriff treats his prisoners, you would not be so glib."

"Well, let's just say I'm pretty sure I know how to ride, okay?" The two glared at each other, Genevieve's breathing labored and angry, Guy's taut spine, his entire body as stiff as a too-tightly strung bow. "Can we please discuss this in private? At the very least, do not castigate your man as he did everything in his power to keep me safe." 

"Very well." The quiet rejoinder was forced between tight lips and clenched teeth. "However when it comes to my men, you do not dictate terms to me." He jerked his head at the arms men. "Go to Locksley. Joffrey, tell Thornton we will be there when we get there and to hold dinner."

The two waited while the soldiers regrouped into formation and followed Joffrey down the road at a solid clip. Soon, too soon, the group rounded the curve and the sound and the dust of their horses disappeared and died off in the air. 

"I am waiting." Guy had turned around, pulled up next to Genevieve so that his knee was against hers. He held her horse's bridle in a tight fist. 

"Waiting for what?" She started to hand the package back to him, but he shook his head and shoved it back to her lap. 

He leaned over so his face was very close to hers. "Your excuse as to why you saddled a horse that does not belong to you, that you did not have permission to ride and that you did not have permission to take out." His breath was very hot on her face. "I recall I told you not to leave sight of the manse!" 

_Oh yeah, that's right... ooops._

Genevieve was immediately contrite. As domineering as the man was, he was looking out for her best interests. After her encounter with Hood and his gang, that much was obvious and Guy's anger was justified. It entered her mind to tell him she didn't think he'd be back for a few more hours, but that would constitute as whining and offering excuses and as he said, he didn't listen to excuses, so she decided to go on attack.

"I am sorry. After the run in with Hood, I understand your concern and admit you were right." Guy swelled up, his smirk and ego very obvious. "However, this horse is pining!" 

"He is wot?" 

Genevieve stiffened her shoulders and reared up as tall as she could, which quite frankly, was not impressive. It registered in Guy's mind that this did not bode well and he was in for an argument. "He is pining! He's languishing! He misses his mistress, his rider, and leaving him out to pasture is cruel! He needs exercise! He needs to be ridden!"

An unbidden crass thought went through Guy's mind when she said that. But she didn't take much of a breath as she continued her rant.

"I needed air! I know horses, Guy! I'm from Kentucky! I've owned them! I know how to ride! I've broken my fair share of head-strong colts!" 

"Really?" He pulled her closer, something Genevieve didn't think was possible. It crossed his mind to ask her how well _she_ had been broken. "I thought you were from..." he began to snap his fingers as if to force himself to remember, "... Alanna Jawjah?" He thrust his chin forward. "Hmm?" 

Genevieve rolled her eyes. _Men! They haven't evolved much in 900 years!_ She raked her brain. "Georgia, Kentucky, Tennessee, the Carolinas, much like..." she snapped her fingers back at him, "Nottingham, Sussex, Kent, Essex-"

"Ah. Shires." He backed off a hair. "I understand." He started to turn on her again, ask her what she knew of Marian, but deep down, that was a part of him he wanted to stay hidden, buried, forgotten. He pulled away from her and with a nod of his head, the two began a slow walk in the direction back towards Gisborne. 

"I see you decided the cloak was for you."

Genevieve was learning not to be shocked by the man's mood swings. "It's very pretty and warm. Thank you." She said nothing, but she knew who the cloak had belonged to. 

"There will be frost tonight, so I thought you might be cold if you wished to venture out." 

"And yet, you're yelling at me for venturing out, and with a guard, no less.” Her sassy attitude made Guy grin. They continued on for some minutes in silence, Guy watching covertly as Genevieve took in her surroundings, the fall beauty of the forest, the very fresh air. "I enjoy riding, Guy. I've missed it in my day-to-day life. I hope you will not berate Michael to harshly. He threatened to tie me up!" 

The words fell out of his mouth before he thought. "I would have enjoyed seeing that." 

Genevieve's response was not what he expected. She laughed. "I bet you would!" 

In a rare fit of good humor, he blurted, "I have a suspicion you enjoy that sort of thing!"

Genevieve pulled up beside him, a cheeky grin on her face. "Truth be told, no one has had the boldness to do so!" With that remark, leaving him, quite frankly, stunned, she put her heels to the stallion and took off, leaving Gisborne in the dust. 

He shook his head with his customary half-smirk, before he put his own spurs to his stallion and followed her. It was an interesting race, one he did not catch up to her until just before they both re-entered his old village.

"Genevieve!" Guy's call caused Genevieve to pull up and back. Guy was looking around trying to get his bearings. Finally finding what he was looking for, he jerked his head, taking his steed off the road and into the woods. "Follow me. I wish to show you something." Genevieve had no choice but to do so. For some minutes, she followed as the man picked his way through shrubs and bush, backing up several times.

"Where are we going?" The further they traveled away from the road, the more alarmed she became.

"I thought you trusted me," he retorted.

""I do, I'm just... well... curious is all." She clicked behind her teeth, trying to keep up and trying not to be disturbed.

"Somewhere I have not been in over twenty years," he murmured, backing up yet again. "I pray it has not changed." Again, with a nod of his head, he bid her to follow him. "Ah. Here it is!" The two burst into a small clearing.

The place was hidden, almost a secluded, wooded valley. The pond, over to the side, was clear, reflecting the red and gold in the trees. Genevieve could only imagine how beautiful it was in the spring. The only sound was the wide waterfall from the creek that fed the pond, a lower stream extending out into the woods. Low bushes hung over the edges and there were several large rocks and a fallen log on the banks, large enough to sit on and dangle one's feet in the water. 

Guy dismounted, leading his horse to the edge of the pond. "Strange," he said, looking around in awe, "I loved this place. I had forgotten about it, as I have not thought of it in many years." 

"Do you make it a habit to squash happy memories?" 

Guy almost jumped out of his skin, she stood so close. Genevieve had tied the reins to the stallion she was riding and he, too, was drinking from the pond. As it was, she stood next to him, looking up with the most innocent of eyes, with her hands clasped behind her back "It hurts to remember them." 

Genevieve's smile was not joyous in the least. "My happy memories sustained me through horrid times," she admitted. "I can't imagine trying to forget them. They give me hope." She again handed the brown package to him. "This is yours."

Guy made no move to take it from her. "Actually, it is yours. Isandra says it is one of the tunics from the nine," he wagged his finger under her nose, "you managed to procure." 

Genevieve shook her head, her lips pursed. "Three long tunics, three kirtles equals three outfits." She then smiled mischievously. "Unless you mix and match!" With that, she winked. 

Guy moved away, the nearness of her caused him to fidget. He propped a boot on top of one of the rocks, testing its solidity. "Isandra decided that as you were so outrageously clothed, you should go ahead and have something that would be a bit less scandalous." He nodded over to a thick copse of bushes. "Why don't you try it on? The bushes will hide you."

With a smirk, Genevieve tucked the package under her arm and headed over in the direction of the tall thicket he pointed out. "Been a while since you've been here, hasn't it?" 

"Over twenty years." 

She returned to her original spot. "It's over grown, hon." The endearment caught him off guard. "Anywhere else?" 

Lifting his foot from the rock, he stood up. "Since you mention it," he started slowly, "there is small cavern behind the waterfall." 

Genevieve's eyebrows rose in appreciation. "Really?" 

"Really," Guy nodded. "If you go to the right of the fall, you should see a narrow path leading to it. It is really quite well hidden."

"And I'll fit and not fall in?" 

Guy shrugged elegantly, Genevieve noticed with jealous disdain. "I managed it even the last time I was here, when I was fourteen." He held out his hand. "And I was tall then. Take my hand. I will show you where it is." 

Sure enough, while water plants had grown up, there was a rocky ledge, well hidden that led to and behind the waterfall. It amused Guy to watch her slowly balance her way to the edge and squeeze behind the cascading water. 

"OH! Cool beanies!" 

Guy turned his back, scanning the landscape, praying neither one had been followed. He wondered if this was another foreign curse, but considering her tone of voice, he thought it was more likely an expression of delight - whether for the cavern or the clothing. 

_Truth was, he rather liked her in her tight trousers, out-lining that wonderfully rounded arse than he wanted to bite..._

He pulled down on the crotch of his own trousers, which were suddenly on the tight side. In an attempt to get his mind off her, he wondered if Hood had found this place yet. He took great pains when he was younger to keep from sharing this hidden alcove, keep anyone from finding out. He hadn't wanted to let anyone know about it; it was his secret, his private spot. In fact, Genevieve was the first person he brought to this place. Bringing Marian here would have been out of the question, even if he had thought of it back then...

_How long did it take a woman to change? It wasn't as if she had an array of choices in clothing to choose from..._

"Genevieve?" He pulled off his gloves and tucked them into his sword belt.

"What is the horse's name?"

That came from nowhere. He thought he could hear her bouncing around, struggling. "Do you need... help?" 

More grunting and bouncing. "Not from you, not yet. What is the horse's name?" 

"Zeus."

"Really?" 

"Really." What a strange conversation.

"Do you even know who Zeus is?"

He rolled his eyes. Obviously, she thought his education was limited. In truth, it was but still...

"He was the highest of the Greek Gods. He was also known as 'Jupiter'." _Take that! Sometimes, listening to Marian's prattle was educational!_

"Yep. And Jupiter is the largest of the planets in our solar system. Great big gas giant!"

_What was she talking about?_ Before he could ask, she blurted out, 

"I have a problem." 

"What would that be?" 

"I... uhm... need someone to tie me up." 

Oh THAT set off a rash of mental images. Guy rolled his eyes. Damn, if suddenly he didn't have intimacy and carnal pursuits and pleasures on his mind all of a sudden, now he had visions of Genevieve tied spread on his bed. After Annie, Guy had been so busy courting Marian and wanting Marian and getting his home ready for Marian, he had not entertained another woman in his bed, instead relying on the availability of his hand. 

After all, allowing his hand to tend to his needs ensured there would be no more illegitimate children.

After her death, for sometime, the thought of sexual intimacy with anyone, including his hand, had been stomach turning. It wasn't until he went to London, to John...

_There had been a highborn Lady, Aedyth, the wife of Lord Someone or Somesuch, who was off with Richard fighting for glory in the Holy Land. She was older, still quite beautiful, wiser, looking for a discrete lover. She had been insatiable, domineering, in charge. And while Guy enjoyed their evenings, he left each tryst feeling used up, empty, and treated much like a toy._  
 __  
But for the first time in a few years, he felt virile, alive...  
 _  
'Life goes on, my beautiful one,' she whispered over the supper table in her rooms, that first time. 'Do not pout for what cannot be. I want nothing lasting and you need nothing permanent. It will be a most satisfactory arrangement. Now, come undress me. You know you want to.'_

"Really, I can't seem to... grrrrr. Laces up the side! Whoever heard of such a thing?" 

"Come on out. I will do them for you." Guy rolled his eyes.

"Are you sure? You can probably see... stuff." 

Guy smirked at what 'stuff' could possibly be. "You would not be the first woman whose laces I have tied."

"OH REALLY? Braggart!" The words were shrewish, but her tone was jovial. Before he could respond, Genevieve made a mad dash from behind the fall, protecting herself from the misty spray with her discarded clothes. Good God, the woman was giggling like a girl! 

The sight of her as she came to rest in front of him caused his heart to stop.

_Isandra was right. I've dressed her as a peasant!_

The dress was grey - had he asked Genevieve the exact color, she would have told him it was 'dove grey.' The cut was simple, a scoop neck, fitted through the bodice and to the hip, at which the dress fell straight to the ground, Genevieve's very odd shoes with laces peaking from under the hem. The sleeves were long, coming to a point at the back of her hand. There was a small bit of embroidery in darker grey about the neck and the cuff, but it did not detract from the simplicity of the gown. The silver chain of her crucifix shone brightly next to her sun-kissed skin.

He prayed the kirtle would be more...lady-ish, more to her-

_his_

-station.

Guy was now beyond twitching. "Lay your clothes across your saddle and then allow me to see to your laces." It came out gruffer than he would have liked, but she took no notice and after laying her jeans and white tunic over the saddle, she turned to her right, her arm slung over her head to show a gap in the upper laces. She had managed to get them tightened up to close to under her arm, but was unable to work her way around the last few eyelets. 

"So you've done this before?" Genevieve was keeping her tone light, but Guy could sense a - _was it jealousy?_ \- thin veneer of strength behind it.

"When I was a boy," he began softly, concentrating on the ties in front of him, "my father fought in the Holy Land, leaving me with my mother..."

_and sister..._

"Oft times," he stumbled on, "she or my sister needed help with laces, among other things. So it is something I am used to doing. There." He tucked the finished tie under the arm opening at the top, brushing soft, slightly damp skin. He fought the urge to put his finger in his mouth to taste the salt of her. Genevieve spun to face him.

"Leaving you to be the man of the house." 

_'Vous êtes l'homme de la maison maintenant, Guy. Vous devez regarder sur votre mère et sa sœur.'_

"Aye."

"You have a sister?" 

"Isabella. We got on better as children than we do as adults." 

"Ah." Genevieve spread her skirts out and tilted back and forth. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" 

Again, Guy's heart fell. At that moment, he decided he was being petty when he purchased it for her. If she saw the silks and velvets his sister paraded in... "You make it beautiful."

Genevieve's jaw dropped in surprise and she blushed. "Such honeyed words falling from your lips. One wonders," and with this she moved around him and looked back at him over her shoulder in a most flirtatious manner, "what favors my lord could possibly be wanting."

_You. I want you, naked and writhing beneath me. I want to hear you cry my name when you come to completion. I want to hear you say 'I lo...'_

"Why would I want anything?" He followed her over to a fallen log next to the pond. 

As she sat down, she kicked off her shoes and ankle-high stockings, wiggling her freed pink-painted toes, before she spun on the rock and dipped her feet in the water.

"ACK!!!!" She pulled her feet up quickly, flinging water in the air and showering herself and Guy. "Frack, that's cold!!!!" 

Guy flicked the water droplets from his jacket. "I would think it is cold. There will be frost tonight." He felt a frigid bead roll down his nose, making him rub it. "What is 'frack'?"

"I'm trying not to swear." The silly wench was now quickly dipping her toes in the clear water, making circles, hissing at the chilliness of the water. “I doubt the priest will give me a free pass, again!”

"Why do you keep putting them in the water," Guy settled down next to her on the log, his back to the pond, "if it makes you shudder?" 

"Because, it's fun! Oh Guy! It is beautiful!" Her smile faded slightly, her eyes lost in a fond memory. "There was a pond near my grandmother's I used to swim in, oh, years ago. It's dried up now. But this..." she slung her arms wide, encompassing the entire small glade and almost beaning Guy in the back of the head had he not ducked, "this is just beautiful!" Again, her smile widened and the wonderment of it brightened Guy's dark world. "I bet you share this with all the girls!" 

"Only you," he answered quietly. Genevieve's eyebrows rose at that admission. "You are the only one I have ever brought here." It was quiet for a few moments, moments the knight stared at her mouth. He was shocked when she took his hand. 

"Surely, you've brought others here. Friends... I'll bet you were a part of a mess of young boys and the entire group came in when it was warm and you splashed and made so much noise!" 

_How do you tell someone who lights up your world that you were a dark, anti-social, broody child..._

Guy was shaking his head. "I... found this place when I was a boy." He pointed to the overflow creek that led into the woods and away from the clearing. "The creek goes into the Gisborne lands proper and once, when I was hiding from chores, I followed it up to here. I spent most of the excursion on my stomach and slithering like a snake under the brush." His free hand wiggled, mimicking said serpent, causing Genevieve to giggle. "My mother was most upset with me, as I became filthy dirty. So I found another way and I marked the trees with my knife; little nicks and niches." Genevieve watched as he looked up, taking in the beauty. "All of this was on what was originally my father's land. I think he would be proud I earned it back."

"He lost it? What happened?" 

For a moment, Guy's mood darkened. "He did not lose it. It was stolen from me upon his death. I have taken it back." 

_Ah Genevieve, they have both stolen something dear from each other..._

Before Genevieve could question him, he continued on. "In truth, now that I think on it, I was not running from chores when I found this place. I was hiding from my sister." He looked down, stared down at Genevieve, who was gazing at him intently. "She was worse than a puppy, followed me every where, pestered me every chance she was able. Every time I turned around, she was telling Mère every little thing I was in to."

" Mère?" She now held his one hand between both of hers. 

"My mother. My mother was French." Guy began to blink. "She was a healer of great renown, kind to every one, no matter..." his voice trailed off.

"No matter… what?"

"Nothing." It grew quiet between them, Guy focusing on what he almost divulged to the woman sitting next to him and Genevieve basking in the pure golden side of this man she doubted anyone saw. This place was special to him, almost... sacred and if he was telling her the truth, she was the only person on earth he shared it with.

_What did that mean?_

"I have decided I do not like that Robin Hood person."

Guy squeezed her hand gently. "He is an outlaw and he tried to rob you. It is natural to not like the man or his friends."

"He called you a murderous demon." 

Everything Guy had in him clenched and froze. "Did he mention names?"

Genevieve shook her head, Guy sighing in relief. "No, but-"

"Funny, Robin Hood would accuse me of being a murderous demon. He went to war in the Holy Land; I imagine he killed his fair share of Saracens while there." Wanting to steer the conversation elsewhere, before she questioned him further, he changed the subject. "Why were you crying earlier?" 

The question, as were so many of his queries, came out of the blue, unexpected. "What?"

"When you and my armsman were riding so hard from Hood and his gang, you had been crying. Why?" Genevieve dropped her head. Again, with his free hand, he gently tucked under her chin and tilted it up. "Do not lie, Genevieve. I will know. Your eyes were red-rimmed and swollen. What did Hood do to make you cry?" 

Taking one of her hands from his, Genevieve pulled her crucifix out. "Hood took it. He told me that I was eating well and many were not and the cross would feed several."

"But Friar Tuck took it from him and returned it. So why did you cry?"

"I cried because he took it, Guy." She was now fingering the ornament, beautiful in its simplicity. "My grandmother gave it to me. It belonged to her mother. She told me when she put it on my neck, when I left for college," she missed Guy's furrowed brow, not understanding what 'college' was, "she told me to keep it close. It would keep me safe, and to remember it was given to me by someone who loved me. I was devastated when he took it away and wasn't going to give it back." 

_Don’t forget who you are, who made you, who gave you your gifts. Don’t let any man make you think less of yourself or undesirable. You find a strong man, who will cherish you, one who will lift you up, support your ideas, keep you strong..._

His hand was now cupping the far side of her face, long fingers spread from her chin to her ear. "It is precious to you." 

"Yes." She smiled. "I would fight to get it back. Just as you fought to get this beautiful, peaceful place back."

"Because it is precious to me."

"Ah," she pressed her face into the palm of his hand. "We have had a meeting of the minds. I wonder what happens next?" 

Guy knew what he thought should happen next. Using his hand to gently guide her, he lowered his mouth...

Her nose scrunched up, nostrils flared, and she sniffed. 

The man jerked back, irritated, the mood - for him - ruined. "Why do you do that?" 

Jolted from... whatever it was she was feeling, Genevieve sat up taller, alarm clearly set across her features. "What? Do what? What did I do?"

Guy pulled away from her. "You... sniffed as if you smelled something rank."

If he expected her to deny it, he was disappointed. "I'm sorry. It's just... the smells here are over-powering to me." She gestured to the sky. "Truth is, that was another reason I wanted to go out for a ride. The smell of the town, the house.... this is much fresher."

"But you sniffed at me." Guy was not going to let her off the hook easily and it put Genevieve in the wretched position of telling the man-

"When was the last time you got in a tub and bathed?"

_Ooooh chickie-poo. That was NOT tactful!_

Indeed, it wasn't. The knight's brows knitted to almost one, darkening his features. "Bathe? Are you suggesting that I am unclean?" 

Immediately, Genevieve sought to soothe the angry beast she had just awakened and insulted. "Well, of course I understand that without indoor plumbing, it's hard to bathe on a daily basis and of course we have deodorant soap and antiperspirant and there's the filtering systems in the air conditioning and we don't rely on fire places for heat and there are toilets that actually flush, so _that_ stench isn't hanging around all day and... what?"

Guy was looking at her as if she was a wretched three-headed mythological beast. He raised a finger as if to admonish her, but changed his mind. "Indoor plumbing. You have used this term before." 

Genevieve reached over and gently grabbed the wagging digit, pulling his hand back into both of hers. "Indoor plumbing. Something we take for granted, but I never will again, believe you me!" She started to wave the air in thought, seeing his question. "Imagine a large... urn... or cistern that kept heated water in it all the time. And when you wanted to bathe or shower, you turned on a knob and the hot water from the urn was pushed up through a spout. Or rather than a chamber pot, the pot is rinsed with a lot of water and it takes all of... that... away... underground and it doesn't have to be cleaned out or sit around and bake in the sun..." By now, Genevieve was standing up, pacing madly while Guy continued to sit on the rock, his elbow on his knee and his chin cupped in his hand. "We have central air and heat, where one can adjust the temperature in a room, building. Make it warmer or cooler without lighting the fireplace or opening the window." Her mind began to wander... "We have cars to travel in, airplanes to fly-"

"Fly?" Guy didn't believe that for a moment. "Your time... flies." 

Genevieve completely missed the sarcasm in the man's voice "Yes. And we have put a man on the moon."

By now, Guy's hand moved from cupping his chin to covering his face. "Next you will be telling me that the world is not flat, but some other odd shape. Tell me something I understand, Genevieve. Tell me of war, tell me of weapons." He removed his hand from his face, braced it on his knee. "Tell me how swords have improved, arrows, armor."

Guy was shocked at the change in her mood. The light in her eyes died, and sorrow graced her features. "We are horrible, Guy. At times, I am so ashamed at what we've become. There are no swords, no arrows. There are guns that shoot metal bullets through a person from... I don't know how far. One can unload a clip of... I don't know... 50 of them in a matter of seconds before reloading. We drop bombs on cities, killing hundreds of people in one swoop. We fight over important things, stupid things..."

"It sounds as if nothing has changed." The man was now standing above her, the look in his eyes, unreadable. He tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "We have a king who does not speak our language; who has only stepped foot on our soil once since becoming king years ago. We are not *his* people, but simply revenue to fund Rome's war. And you tell me that rather than solving things, things just seem to have gotten worse."

Genevieve nodded. "Oh, some problems are settled, other problems pop up. It's simply a never ending cycle." 

It was quiet for a time, the two off in their own personal nightmares, the only sound being that of the waterfall. 

"But," Guy spoke up brightly, breaking the painful silence, "you do have chamber pots that clean themselves. That, I must say, is an improvement." He took both of her hands in his. "So perhaps, the air smells better."

"It helps." She smiled shyly up at him. "That and daily showers." She kept a hold of his hands as he pulled back, keeping him close. "Guy! Think. Sweated in leather and horse and rain and dirt and muck and sweat and more sweat..." Her voice trailed off. 

"That bad?" 

"To me, yes." She shrugged. "Sometimes. I am quite sure the smells of my time would be equally nauseating to you as well. Pollution, colognes, perfumes, diesel exhaust…" 

They stood there for a time, holding hands and listening to the quiet, each focused on their own thoughts.

"I have been thinking," the man could speak so softly, he would not disturb mice, "that you are correct about Zeus. It is a cruelty to leave him in the stall or turned to pasture. He should be exercised properly."

"So I can ride him?" Genevieve immediately perked up.

"Aye. But only with me." He didn't tell her that he was enjoying this idyllic time with her, away from his duties, away from Vaisey, away from Hood. This was peace, peace he had forgotten about. 

Somehow, she was part of this peace, was an important part of it and even if he came by himself here ever again, it would not be the same. And he wanted _this_ peace again and again and again.

"Tell me something," he whispered. Genevieve nodded. "Explain your adult toys."

She blushed. Not a gentle pink to the cheeks, but a furious red. Genevieve ducked her head and an amused Guy watched as the part in her hair turned as red as blistered skin.

"They are... ah... for personal use."

He bent over, his hands now running up her arms to grip her by the elbows. "I imagine," he whispered, "that considering your reaction, your adult toys are of an...intimate nature."

She nodded. 

Guy's hands continued to move upwards, now holding her gently but firmly by her shoulders, and pulled her closer, into him. "Are they to... assuage a... woman's needs?"

She nodded again.

He bent over, his lips trailed across the side of her face to her ear. "Genevieve cannot speak all of a sudden? I do not believe it."

"The world is round."

"You are avoiding the issue and the world is flat. Do not change the subject. Your toys are to relieve a woman's needs? This is so?" 

"Yes." He had to strain to hear her, the word, whispered in his chest. "It... scratches... an itch." 

His mouth found her ear, his tongue, darting around the very sensitive rim of it, causing her knees to buckle. Guy stepped backwards, bringing her with him, until he found, with the back of his leg, the large rock he knew was behind him. Sitting down, he pulled her into his lap, continuing his assault. His mouth, his teeth nibbled, nipped their way to her jaw line, her fingers were now threading their way through his hair. "Would you rather have a man to tend to that itch?" One hand found its way around her, now caressing that delectable backside. 

In an attempt to regain some sort of control, Genevieve grabbed him by both sides of his head and pulled back, gazing at him in earnest. "Yes! Do you know where one is at?" 

He stared at her in disbelief for a moment, before finally registering the mischief in her eyes. "Oh," he started to chuckle deep, a rusty sound, "Genevieve Faith Robinson, you are a willful, willful, woman and your willfulness will get you in serious trouble." With this, he kissed her full on the mouth, exploring, sucking on the flesh of her lower lip. His hand found her ankle, stroked, and caressed its way up her leg to her thigh. _Who would think such skin was made of velvet?_ She was thoroughly squirming by the time he rose for air. The hand under her dress was resting at the upper most part of her thigh. He smacked it once, causing her to jump. "I know of such a man." He lowered his head, and proceeded to continue his exploration of her mouth. 

"Hmmm? Who?" Somehow she managed to get that much out when she raised her chin, leaning back, reveling in the feel of his mouth as it traveled down her neck, to her clavicle, directly above the indention at her breasts. His fingers skirted along and under the edge of her panties. He nipped the rise of flesh at the scooped neckline of her dress.

"Me. But-" He stood up and set her on her feet, "not today." He took advantage of her open mouth to kiss her again. "You are not the only one with a sensitive nose!" He tapped hers to make a point. "Put your shoes back on. I will retrieve our horses. We have tarried long enough." 

Embarrassed by the liberties she had allowed him to take, Genevieve sat down on the fallen tree and dusting off the dirt from her feet, she quickly put her tennis shoes back on. She was so upset, she didn't realize her socks were stuffed down in the toes until after she stood up. She stormed over to where the knight was holding both leads. "What do you mean your nose? I've bathed recently-"

"Your menstrual cycle, Genevieve." She gasped. "Your... scent is suddenly rather... musky." He handed her the reins and interlocking his fingers, offered her a hand up. 

As upset as Genevieve was, the cool air had cooled her ardor. She accepted the make shift step and settled in the saddle. She struggled with her cloak, until Guy came forward, mounted on his own stallion and then allowed him to fix the clasp. "I think your nose is just over-sensitive," she sniffed.

Grabbing her saddle horn, Guy pulled himself forward. "If my nose is wrong, come to my bed tonight." Genevieve started to jerk away, but he kept a strong grip on her saddle. "Despite what you might think, I do not consider you a conquest, much less an easy one. Perhaps later, we can discuss why you think such. Come." He turned her loose and began to pick his way through the forest, leaving her no choice but to follow. Within a minute, the forest swallowed them both, branches and twigs shaking in their wake, before the air stilled and leaving the little glade quiet again.

Silent.

It sighed. 

In the middle of the pond, a shimmer rose in the shape of a short woman. As she took shape, blue wings spread out, the tips dipping in the water and causing it to ripple. 

"Rats!" 

_Anael. Patience._ The whisper hissed from the heights of the trees in the wind.

"But the timing was so perfect!" 

_The ground is wet. And the floor of the cavern is damp. Besides, it is cold._

The little angel still scowled, dragging her toe sullenly in the water, unmindful of the frigid temperature. 

_They are talking. Give them time._

"You didn't give them much time. Remember?"

_Anael! I can warp time._

The being on the water made a perfect 'o' with her mouth. "Ah!" 

And with that, she turned into a mass of blue butterflies and scattered into the breeze.

[](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/ZeeDippyVessel/media/Fic%20Artwork/09tumblr_mlia88J0IG1s2yqrzo1_500_zpsbbc5efec.jpg.html)  


_**~~~...~~~** _

_**That never crosses my mind** _

_**~~~...~~~** _

_Vous êtes l'homme de la maison maintenant, Guy. - 'You're man of the house now, Guy.'_

_Vous devez regarder sur votre mère et sa sœur. - You must watch over your mother and sister._

_Vous devez prendre soin de votre soeur. - You must take care of your sister._


	11. 10...insist...

_**Manna from Heaven** _

_**Chapter 10** _

_**...insist...** _

Carefully, the two made their way back to the road. As they neared, Guy motioned for her to wait, as he checked the road. Assured there was no one around, he signaled for her to follow and they began their journey back to his home.

Their return to Locksley was a study in silence. In truth, Guy was watching for signs that Hood was watching, as well as watching Genevieve.

She sat her horse well. 

Truly, after watching her initially race up the road earlier, he had no hesitant thought that she could ride. He was simply angry she was out and about-

_without him_

-without proper protection.

As they came within sight of Locksley, Genevieve slowed down. Guy dawdled as well, looking at her over his shoulder. She came to a complete standstill, looking rather... bashful. The knight also stopped and turned his horse around to look at her.

"Wot?" 

"Thank you."

This confused him. "For what?"

Genevieve had no idea why all of a sudden, she was self-conscious, why this was so hard. This man, this knight, had showed her more attention in one early afternoon than Lamar had the entire time they had been together. Lamar's idea of an 'outdoor excursion' was attending the annual Georgia Tech-Georgia Bulldog football game, that normally took place in December, cheering on his beloved Bulldogs. While she didn't mind football...

"Genevieve?" Sir Guy's patience was obviously wearing thin.

"For sharing with me. The glade, the pond." She nudged Zeus forward. "It's obviously special to you." As she passed him, his mouth came up in that quirky half-smile of his. "It's a beautifully peaceful place. I hope you take me back soon. Thank you." She lowered her head, looking up at him from the side of her eyes as she passed him by.

He sat staring at her until she was well into the town, before he prodded his own stallion forward.

_**~~~...~~~** _

Genevieve unsaddled, stabled, brushed down, and fed her mount, again proving she knew and was comfortable around the beast. On one hand, Guy was pleased he wouldn't have to teach her.

On the other hand, that was _his_ private past time. If she was going to do all this work, what was he going to do to occupy himself before dinner? 

It didn't take long for him to decide.

He entered his home... yes, his, no matter what Hood insisted upon, to hear delighted squealing from the upper rooms. Rushing up the stairs, he quickly made his way to Genevieve's open door, to find her sitting on the floor, her lap full of...

"KITTENS! OH GUY! LOOK!" She held up a black, furry beastling.

Guy stood over her and reached down to take it from her grasp.

_**~~~...~~~** _

_'Oh Guy! Look!' Isabella held up a grey striped kitten. 'Kittens! There are kittens here!' In the filtered light, at that moment, the nine year old girl seemed to have forgotten they had no parents, no home, and thanks to their cousin's bullying, no warm place to sleep. Her eyes shown with an innocence that would soon disappear forever. 'If there are kittens, then this is a good place! We will be fine, will we not? Guy? We will be fine, if kittens are here!'_

_He smiled for her sake. Living in their grand-père's barn was the lowest of the low. After everything, every struggle, every insult to get to their mère's family in France, everything he had done, tolerated, the abuse he endured, Guy knew he was a failure as a brother... a son..._

_It was his fault they were here to begin with, in this situation. He destroyed everything..._

_'Guy?'_

_Still smiling, he reached over and scratched the furry thing behind the ear and lied to her, promising himself someday, he'd make what he was about to say truth and make it up to her. 'Aye, we will be fine...'_

_**~~~...~~~** _

The little monster hissed at him, as he held it by the scruff of the neck and growled with all the fury of a four-week-old kitten. He inspected it, all the while listening to Genevieve coo and giggle like a young girl he once loved deeply.

_Loved until she turned into a hateful shrew and blamed him for the moon's waning._

He placed it in the palm of his hand, ridiculing himself when it extended its claws and raced up to his shoulder, butting up against his neck and burying into his long hair. 

"Oh!" Genevieve had her hands full and appeared to be loving it. "It likes you! We should name that one after you."

He plucked the fiend from his shoulder and set it back down in her lap. "I fear that would be an insult to this one." He nodded. "It is a girl." He stood up, hearing his back crack. "Where is their mother?"

Genevieve pointed to the bed to where a large grey striped cat he recognized from the barn, lay curled up at the foot of her bed. "Apparently, Mama is a mouser and Thornton brought her and her babies up to clear out the swarm of mice in my room." She smirked, something Guy found amusing. "I just hope she doesn't leave the backbone and tail on my bed as a gift." Now, Guy was smirking. "We had a cat that would capture field mice, turn them loose in the house and made us leave before they would catch them and dispose of them. She would leave the carcasses on the dining room table." Now, his shoulders were shaking at her outrageous tale. "Oh, laugh it up. It was disgusting!"

He nodded, now in that uncomfortable spot for him; he had nothing to say. "I am going," he motioned with his thumb over his shoulder, "to take care of a few things. I will see you at dinner."

Fifteen minutes later, he sank in the tub, reminding himself that yes, this was definitely much better than a morning sponge bath from a cold, frigid bowl.

And of course, Genevieve's complaint had _nothing_ at all to do with it.

**_~~~...~~~_ **

Dinner was a quiet affair, everyone staying out of Guy's way. ' _Obviously,'_ he thought smugly to himself, _'they do not wish to incur the wrath I should be doling out to Michael. Which reminds me, I do need to discipline him. What ghastly guard duty should I...'_ the thought wandered off. Genevieve sat next to him, in her simple gown, slowly pushing her food around her plate. Finishing up with the main course, he picked up a small bunch of grapes and plucked one, before leaning over the arm of his chair. "Did my nose deceive me?" He popped it in his mouth.

"No," she snarled. She feared her precious stash of tissue would be used up as mock sanitary pads, if the pile of kittens didn't shred them first. She put the box on the mantle over the fireplace, but kittens had this way of climbing into things. She had already informed Thornton, the minute the tub was full of extremely hot water, she was going to stay there a while. Next time she dreamed of Val, she'd mention if they were going to make her have a menstrual cycle in this place, someone in the 'Keeping Genevieve From Going Nuts In The Dark Ages' department needed to magically materialize tampons! And a door or a standing privacy wall to the small corner. 

And a door latch. She had a feeling Guy was going to make a habit of walking in and out of her room at will.

Part of her didn't mind and that bothered her.

"Are you not hungry?" The question was gently spoken. "I would think you would be starving considered how little you ate this morning."

The opening volley of menstrual cramps seized her right after Guy left the room - to take a BATH of all things and the man smelled of lavender, but she was not going to complain, not one bit - and again, she decided as soon as she arrived back in her time, she would happily have the implant removed. The cramping and the backache was yet another side affect she had and typically the only thing that helped was a heating pad and rest. At least she had Tylenol in her bag. 

_Headnote to Val. Tylenol with codeine. And tampons. Please and thank you._

"I'm jonesing for some chocolate, but I'm certain you don't have it."

Guy turned sideways, slinging his leg over the arm of the chair. He popped another grape into his mouth. "What is 'jonesing'?"

Genevieve sighed. Did he have any clue just how sexy he was doing that? "It means I'm craving it." His eyebrows bore down in consternation. "It means I really, really, really want chocolate."

He pulled yet another grape from the stem, inspecting it closely before putting it in his mouth. "I have no clue as to what chocolate is."

Her back now aching horribly, she stood slowly, jolting Guy from his comfy position. He quickly stood up, noticing with mild concern the stress on her face. "I have a silly suspicion that you would love chocolate flavored ice cream. I'm going to take a bath." She turned to leave.

Guy grabbed her by the arm, gently, but with conviction. "Genevieve, about this afternoon..." his voice trailed off until she looked up at him. He leaned over so that his words would be just between the two of them. "I am not sorry that certain things happened and I intend on finishing them. Soon."

Genevieve's jaw flapped for a moment, before she responded. "Again, I fear I would be too easy a conquest-"

His grip now tightened in anger. "So you have stated before, as well as a reference to a 'Her.' You are not a conquest and there is no other woman that I-"

"Living."

He jerked back as if slapped when she said it. _What did she know? How much did she know?_

_Who told her? She has wandered freely among the locals when it was not raining..._

Rather than revulsion or condemnation or worse - pity, Genevieve looked at him with compassion. "I'm not the only one who cries in their sleep at night, Guy." He immediately turned loose of her arms, dropping them in shock. "You must have loved her very much to hurt so." She stepped backwards, out of his reach. "Mine... didn't die, but he might as well be dead to me. It hurts and I can't begin to imagine..." She hugged herself tightly, leaving the thought unfinished. "I'm going to take a bath and then go to bed. My back is starting to hurt." With that, she slipped up the stairwell. Guy watched as Eleanor stopped her, nodded her head at whatever instructions Genevieve gave her and then his eyes followed her up the stairs. He was still watching the hallway where she disappeared when a gentle tap pulled him from his musings.

"Yes, Thornton." 

Thornton stood at his side, the girl, fearfully tucked behind him. There was a time, that trepidation would have made him feel powerful, but now... he had not harmed her, nor her insignificant family. Why would she be terrified of him? 

_What had she heard, what did she believe and what had she told Genevieve?_

"According to old Maud, it will be quite cold tonight. She predicts frost." Old Maud had been old for as long as Guy could remember and her bones told her much of weather. She was never wrong.

"Light the fires in the fireplaces. Especially the bedrooms. You do not need to ask me."

"We are adding extra quilts to both beds, sir." Guy nodded. "There is a... concern." 

Guy waited.

And waited.

Finally, Eleanor spoke up. "It's Lady Genevieve, Sir Guy. She... well..."

"Yes?" 

"She doesn't really have anything to sleep in, nothing warm honestly," the girl blurted. It came out so fast, the knight likened it to squeezing a boil and rupturing it in all of its disgusting splendor. "'Tis disgraceful what she's been sleeping in, actually."

_Yes, I have seen that thin tunic and the extremely short trousers she sleeps in and disgraceful is not the word I would use to describe..._

A sly smirk graced his features. "I will take care of that." He handed her goblet to his steward. "Lady Genevieve's back is paining her." He ducked his head, nodding to the upper floor. "Perhaps we have something to help her?" 

"Of course."

"You know," Guy's voice dropped. "Women problems." 

The servant brightened somewhat. "Ah. I have just the thing." He took in Guy's questioning look. "Sir Guy," he gently reminded him, "I _did_ have a wife and two daughters. I know the symptoms well." The man turned to the young girl, still hiding behind him. "Eleanor, come with me. I have something you may take to her." With that, the two turned to the kitchen, leaving the food on the table. Guy looked into the gloom and saw Godric moving to clear the board. "Leave the grapes and the wine. Bring a second goblet and another bottle. Tell Thornton I wish to speak to him privately."

The knight left his hall, heading up the stairs. The door to the bathroom was closed, steam from the fireplace, the heated water, escaping through the cracks. 

Guy entered his room, mind racing.

_Something warm... something comfortable... something not so scandalous... something I can get off her quickly...no wait..._

He ended up with one of his current shirts (The Lord had been generous in her endowments, Guy figured she would need the room) and an old pair of drawstring trousers that he had not worn or slept in in quite some time. Both were heavy and should suffice for the evening. He left the clothing on her bed, noticing the kittens were asleep on the extra quilts in a pile...

...and the backbone and tail of a no-longer living mouse at the foot. There was scurrying in the eaves above, so at least the mother of this furry bunch was doing her job. Gingerly picking the leavings up by the tip of the tail, Guy went to the window and threw it outdoors, before shutting and securing the shutters. He stoked the fire in the fireplace, making sure there was plenty of wood for the evening. He rinsed his hands in the water; his mother had pounded into him early that such filth should not linger on one's skin. Sickness and illness came from such and even at a young age, Guy remembered standing at his mother's side, watching more than one friend be buried due to things she thought were preventable.

Then after dumping the water, he went back downstairs, sitting at the table, with his leg slung over the chair arm, swinging it slowly and waited for the household to settle down. 

He wanted to chat with Thornton. A chat he did not think he could have with anyone else.

_**~~~...~~~** _

Genevieve had never appreciated a bath more than this one. Her back ached and would for the next 18 hours. _Damn Eve and her apple habit!_ Eleanor brought in a pot of herbal tea and a goblet of doctored something or other and chattered inanely about warmer nightclothes, something Genevieve had not thought of.

She waited until Eleanor left, taking her new dress with her to air out and hang up. Once the door shut and things quieted, she reached into the basket hanging on the side of the tub and retrieved the bottle of Tylenol she had hidden from the girl. She quickly downed two pills with a swallow of the hot tea. 

She listened to the activity outside the door while she lounged, hearing Guy's spurs rattle about the upper floor - including her room. She was going to have to have a talk with him about that. Most certainly this was his home, but a bit of privacy and respect for her space would be appreciated. After all, she respected his space and didn't go tearing through his things trying to find her things. 

That was something else she needed to discuss with him: her things that he was keeping. After all, it was a _woman's_ vibrator. What could he possibly use it for? She did not want to even consider the fuzzy handcuffs. That boy probably spent enough time in a dungeon...

She picked up the soap he brought. Lavender. That was another thing. She very much appreciated the effort, but if he was going to make bathing a habit - and she hoped he did - she needed to get with someone to find him a more manly smelling soap! 

_I wonder if they have Old Spice around here... please not Ax or Tag..._

She sat in the water until it cooled, before getting out, pulling the plug and wrapping up in a bath sheet. This particular menstrual cycle was going to be nasty and messy and she certainly wasn't looking forward to it. She realized, as she stood in the bath room that the sun had gone down and with it, so had the temperature. 

As she did every evening after a bath, she listened at the door. The last thing she wanted to do was run into Guy or Joffrey or... anyone... clad in only a bath towel. Cracking the door, she heard masculine murmuring - Guy's and Thornton's - from downstairs, so she quickly slipped out and ran to her room. 

The first thing she noticed was the two piles on her bed. Extra quilts and something... black. It was warm in front of the freshly fueled fireplace, so she grabbed her panties, squirming at the knowledge she would be wearing them for several days straight, as the thought of wearing a thong with no tampon made her mildly nauseous. Once she took care of that bit of nasty business, she realized that the black pile on the bed was obviously the warmer night clothing Eleanor mentioned. She picked up the shirt, shaking it out.

Guy heard her laughter clear into the main hall.

_**~~~...~~~** _

"Sit. Please." Gesturing to Thornton, Guy poured wine into the clean, unused goblet and set it before Genevieve's spot. Funny, the woman had been there five days and it was already _her_ spot.

Thornton appeared to think for a moment, before settling down in the chair next to Guy's. Everything was cleaned, finished and all the servants had gone home. Joffrey was holed up in his room off the guardroom, so essentially, they were alone. The heat from the fireplace was cozy, completely masking the dropping temperature outside. 

Guy was inspecting the wine in his goblet, thinking deeply about how to broach the subject he wanted to discuss. "I recall you give good advice."

"Thank you, Sir Guy."

"About women."

Thornton froze for a moment and Guy caught it. The only time Sir Guy had asked Thornton his opinion about women, was on his cursed wedding day, when Marian... well... behaved like Marian, setting off a string of unfortunate circumstances. Thornton was in a painful position of knowing a lot more than he should. He was taught by his predecessor to keep his mouth closed and his opinions to himself unless pressed and then to give out only what he had to with as much tact as possible. 

It was his personal, well-kept quiet opinion that Marian was not the woman for Sir Guy; that she was too rashly independent, self-centered, and that her father spoiled her outrageously. Truth be told, he was shocked at her unlady-like behavior at the ceremony and actually felt had the two of them talked it out privately, discussed it, perhaps it would have ended differently. He heard the complaints from the townspeople about Sir Guy, still spoke to Robin quite regularly in regards about certain situations and on occasion, the man as well. But he refused to tell Robin of the inner workings of the home, the fact that Sir Guy struggled inwardly with much as of late. He was amazingly stressed and, upon his return from the Holy Lands, on the verge of a complete break-down. He knew the knight sitting next to him did not like his overlord, nor did he like the Prince very much. He had definitely well-deserved beliefs and views when it came to King Richard and fact was, Thornton agreed with Sir Guy in that aspect. An absentee king who bled the country dry for money for someone else's war was no king. Sir Guy might not remember him, but Thornton remembered Sir Guy and his sister as children, before their parents had died in that horrible fire. Such a terrible accident...

He often wondered what had happened to the dispossessed teenaged boy everyone quickly forgot about. His only 'crime' had been that he was born to a French mother and had a father with leprosy. And now that he had returned, he wondered how differently Sir Guy would have turned out had he had a nurturing father figure during those formative years he so desperately, so badly needed one.

He wondered if the people in the shire realized that Sir Guy's anger was long fostered by twenty years of fermenting...

There were many rumors concerning Marian's death; disturbing rumors, unkind. Thornton refused to discuss, entertain... gossip was the devil's sword. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Sir Guy loved Lady Marian to the point where had he truly killed her, as the whispers stated, he did it in pure fury, red-eyed anger, one that rendered a man senseless for a time. There was no way the knight would have planned it, set about it. And if so, he was paying dearly for it now. Many times, especially after his return with the Sheriff, Thornton feared he would kill himself, that he was going insane.

Thornton remembered his own grief after his wife died...

_Love is a blind whore with mental disease and no sense of humor..._

"I… overheard a conversation the other day... among the guards." Guy lifted his goblet and took a deep drink. "Strange really, how it came about, I am not quite sure, but it piqued my interest and made me rather curious."

_'He is stalling,'_ Thornton thought to himself. _'Or Lady Genevieve has him running in a circle chasing his tail.'_ Now that woman was an enigma. Independent, yes, in some ways like Marian, but she was kind to the knight, whereas Marian was standoff-ish, cool. Genevieve initiated contact, conversation... 

She verbally and mentally danced with him.

"What were they talking about, Sir Guy?" 

The man set his goblet down rather forcefully. "A woman's needs." He seemed to be staring into the fireplace, watching the flames jump and cavort. "Apparently, the discussion centered on the idea that a woman has physical needs, desires, much like a man's," with this he looked up at the steward, which while Thornton appeared to stay calm and collected, he was actually frightened immensely, "and that, like a man, they should not be ridiculed or judged, if they deal with those needs discretely." 

Continuing to school his features, Thornton's mind moved swiftly. He wondered who had propositioned who. The two had been alone and unsupervised for quite sometime in the woods today. Had Guy presented Genevieve with the added security of his protection for a boon? Had Genevieve responded to the hypocrisy of the suggestion, or demanded he meet her needs?

Neither one appeared to be overly upset upon their return.

"Sir Guy," the servant sat up, setting his goblet down. He would need to select his words very carefully. "Once, some time back, you asked me if I understood women, particularly, my wife."

"Aye. I remember." Guy's tone was tight, the response came from a clenched jaw. Thornton did not miss that the knight's fist was white knuckled, he clenched it so fiercely. 

"I believe women do have needs, physical, earthy needs." The man realized he was treading on very shaky ground. "When we were first married, before the children came, she exhausted me, was quite demanding." He heard the knight chuckle. "When the children arrived," with this, the steward nodded, "many times, I fear loving me was a chore, something she had to put up with. I did not stop to think that perhaps she was simply tired with the responsibilities, the work, and the children. She was up with them in the night when they were sick. She was awake before they were, in bed after them. Children," he nodded to the knight, picking up his goblet again, "are busy business, will wear a mother out. But once they were grown, independent, she returned to wearing me out at night."

The knight turned, faced the table, propping his elbows on it and sinking his head in his hands. "I know a woman has desires; that was not what interested me about the conversation."

Guy was pondering many things at one time; something he did not like to do. His feelings for Marian, the sheriff's recent comments about Annie, his own recent musings on finding a wife, Lady Aedyth, the mysteries of Genevieve. Attempting to compartmentalize each situation, each woman was maddening.

_Damn. Living with his hand was looking better and better. At least it wasn't confusing and he knew what it desired._

"What interested you about the conversation then?"

The knight pushed back from the table and seemed to return his attention to the strand of grapes. He plucked one from the stem, inspecting it, before putting it in his mouth. "Sluts, ladies, and whores. Same or different? And if they are different, how are they different and why?" Standing up, he went to the fireplace and spit the seed into the fire. "And do we care?"

Now Sir Guy seemed to be making sense; the hypocrisy of sex and the sexes. Thornton finished his goblet, the potency of the grape going to his head as he stood up. For the moment, he was glad his lord was not watching him; his greatest fear was being retired and this man needed every person in his corner he could get; the knight had few friends and fewer confidants. "I have heard tales of ladies who are no more than sluts and whores who are truly ladies. One cares not for the emotional aspect of making and showing love and affection and the other is only trying to put food on the table. Such a woman as the later should not be ridiculed, in my opinion." For a time, there was no sound save that of the crackling in the fireplace. The silence was shattered by Genevieve's joyous laughter from above. They listened for the moment, such a sound rarely heard in Locksley Manor anymore. Thornton had often thought to himself that had Sir Guy and Lady Marian married, their children would be like their parents; broody, withdrawn, and cold, - taking the first two from their father and the other from their mother. 

"As for do we care, caring is what makes us human, 'tis what makes the bond. Birth is simply a status, granted by others. My wife, God rest her soul, was more a lady than many ladies I have seen pass through to Nottingham." He stepped away from the table, setting his chalice down softly. "I know of men who are bigger sluts than many women called by that name. Their appetites become jaded, grossly mismanaged. They consider the women they use to be nothing more than a ways to a means of an end, not caring that the woman they are bedding has given themselves to their partner in love or duty. Women are expected to maintain a certain amount of self-control, whereas men are patted on the back for bedding as many wenches as they can. I find that hypocritical.” The wine had obviously loosened the man’s tongue. “Oftentimes I wonder if it simply our egos, undesiring to be compared unfavorably to a previous lover.” It was quiet for a moment save the crackling in the fireplace where the knight gazed silently. “Sir Guy, ‘tis not the money nor the birthright that makes a woman a lady. Instead, ‘tis the way she holds herself and how she treats others. One can be born into a class, however that does not mean they have class. But that is simply my opinion and means nothing to anyone, but me." He inhaled deeply, praying he had not offended Sir Guy. When he did not lash out, Thornton continued, "Will there be anything else, my lord?"

"One more thing." Guy was staring intently into the fire, paying no attention to his steward. "If someone has a dream about another person, in which they are in danger and they go to extraordinary measures to save that person, even if it is someone they do not know very well. What do you think this would mean?"

The man was quiet for so long, Guy finally turned to ensure he was still in the room or not passed out on the table. "I would say that the dreamer is very compassionate or cares for the person he or she saved very much." 

"Even if they did not know them for long?" 

Thornton smiled a very sad smile. "Sir Guy. I fell in love with my wife the first time I laid eyes on her. I was fifteen." He picked up the goblet and headed towards the kitchen before stopping. "Sir, if I may... when one's first choice does not love one back, was he or she truly the first choice? Perhaps the second choice should have been first to begin with. You will never find the right person, if you never let go of the wrong one." His grip tightened on the stem of the chalice. "Forgive me if I have been too bold."

Guy watched as the man took the goblet to the kitchen and listened to him leave through the back entrance. Once the manse quieted, he sauntered to the table to the table and refilled his own pewter tankard. Taking a sip, he appreciated the drink even more. "Why do you think I gave you the wine to begin with?" Draining the chalice, he then eyed the stairs, thinking on if he wished to challenge Genevieve to a battle of wits before he was too drunk to stand. 

Her echoing laughter yet again answered the question for him. Grabbing a hold of the wineglass and the bottle, he shouted for Joffrey to barricade the doors as he headed up the stairs.

_**~~~...~~~** _

_Damn, this one's bad!_

Genevieve rubbed her back. Even after the Tylenol and the willow bark tea, her backache was not easing up a bit. She would probably give her iPad and her company for a heating pad at this moment. She paced the room, stretching and trying to avoid rambunctious kittens. Dear God, they were in to everything! And underfoot! Small wonder her grandmother made her keep them in the barn! 

_I need heat. I really need moist heat._

It suddenly occurred to her that there was a washcloth next to the basin of water Eleanor left for her to rinse off (and pour in the chamber pot to make it less... icky) in the mornings. She tried to make her way quickly to it, however, she tripped twice over the ridiculously long sleeping pants, Sir Guy had loaned her. Again laughing out loud at the absurdity of it, she rolled them up for the third time. While she appreciated the tie waist, they were a good foot too long for her frame. 

_I swear the man has legs that go to heaven!_

The shirt, truth be told, was no better. It was long, going almost to her knees. The wrists tied and while she managed to get one kinda-sorta done, the other evaded her, so the cuff also was way to long, unless she attempted to roll it up and it had ties that went below her knees. 

Dipping the cloth into the water and wringing it out, she realized that what she was going to attempt wasn't going to work clothed the way she was.

Off came the pants.

She slung them over the bed, vowing to put them back on when she went to sleep and made her way back to the fire. 

The temperature dropped rapidly after the sun went down and her body shook. In Atlanta, the weather remained hot until October and then was mild through well into November. It wasn't normally until Halloween before the temperatures became more like a warm autumn, never truly dropping in the 40's until late November. So with her thin, Southern blood, this was freezing cold. Putting her back to the heat of the fireplace, she lifted her sleeping shirt and pressed the damp cloth to her lower back. That felt good, but her thighs were probably going to be blistered.

But it felt wonderful. Her back relaxed a little bit. 

So deeply entranced by the moist heat and warmth of the fire, she did not hear the knock at the door. 

"Genevieve?" 

She jerked from her reverie, her hand still pressed to her back and turned, facing her intruder. Guy stood in the doorway, his head tilted sideways. His mouth curved partway into a smirk. "Lady Genevieve. Who would have thought..."

Along with the backache, tended to come extreme irritability and short-temperedness. The main reason Genevieve excused herself early from dinner was to keep from taking her belligerence and crabbiness out on everyone. She figured they had to put up with Sir Snarksalot; they didn't need her bad-temper added to the pot. 

"I came," he started gamely, "to see if you would like some wine to relax you. My sister always cried with hers when she was young." He lifted the bottle to prove his point.

_See Chickipoo? He's being nice! And you're calling him names! Who's the snarky one now?_

"Knocking," she wheezed, trying to keep her front to him and not exposing her entire backside to the man. "Have you ever tried knocking?" 

"I did. Besides," he continued, "this is my home."

"I'll remember that next time I'm straining on the chamber pot," she hissed. "That will be a really nice sight for you!" The knight looked at her completely unaffected by her crassness. She hung her head. "I'm sorry. I'm being unusually crude. My back hurts and I just don't like anyone right now." She shrugged and removed the cloth, causing the shirt to completely drop back into place. 

"Is there something wrong with the leggings?" 

"Sweetheart, your legs are a whole lot longer than mine."

Guy's eyes never left hers, seeming to ignore the pet name. "Put them on."

"But-"

"Put them on."

"Are you going to at least leave?" 

"No." 

“Turn around?”

“No.”

"Guy-"

"Genevieve," he interrupted smoothly. "You would have been in them by now. Besides," he relaxed back on one cocked hip," I saw more of your legs when I picked you up off the ground in that outfit you called a dress."

Genevieve reached the bed and deciding to put as much space between her and Sir Guy as possible, made her way around the huge piece of furniture and behind the bed curtain. She reached across to grab the pants. "You know, you haven't told me how you found me. I assumed you found me in the road, which I find disconcerting."

Guy had wondered when she would ask this question. For several days, he contemplated exactly what he would tell her. Considering everything that had happened and everything he hoped would happen, he decided that lying outrageously was not an option. "You in the road was the least disconcerting thing about your arrival."

She had the pants by the waistband, holding them almost to her breasts. They still were dragging the floor. "What do you mean by that?" She stopped her inspection long enough to look up and glare at him. "Are these things clean?" 

Arms crossed, he tilted his head and smirked. "I have never worn them," he lied smoothly. "I prefer to sleep in my skin." He saw no need to tell her most nights regardless of how he _preferred_ to sleep, he typically was passed out and slept in the clothes he was wearing. "Are you cold?" 

Genevieve was bent over, stepping into the pants. "Yes. Why?" 

"You give a generous view." 

She looked up at him and then followed his view to the gaping low vee neckline of the shirt she was wearing. 

He could see everything.

With a hiss, she stood up, the waistband of the pants, around her thighs. "And you're getting ready to have kitten claws in a rather sensitive place, Sir Guy." 

Guy wasn't buying that. "Do not try to distract me." 

Genevieve stood up, with the pants still around her thighs. "Suit yourself."

The next sound was a painful hiss coming from the knight, as a small black kitten leapt from the table and onto his upper thigh, sinking its razor sharp claws in, close to his groin. He never thought he'd get the little monster detached from his leg and it was a great blow to his ego when no sooner than he managed to get the thing's claws disengaged - with it screaming outrageously as if he had harmed it - then it was snatched from his hands by That Woman.

Who proceeded to coo and pet it. "Poor Maleficent."

"Poor Maleficent? Poor me!" He rubbed his leg, checking to make sure there was no blood loss. He looked up to see that Genevieve was now completely swathed in black from neck to...

He could see why she laughed. The trousers were ridiculously long. "What is a Maleficent?"

"This one's name is Maleficent." She held it close to her chest, something that made Guy rather jealous. "If you're not careful, history will repeat itself." She jutted her chin back to the table.

Guy stepped away in time to see a little ginger stripe wiggle its rear in anticipation of a jump. 

It landed spectacularly on the floor.

Picking it up by the scruff of the neck, causing it to mewl pitifully, he addressed Genevieve. "Where is their mother?" 

"She comes down to nurse," she placed the black kitten - Maleficent - over in the corner on a pillow, where two more balls of fluff lay in the middle, curled up. "The rest of the time, she's up in the ceiling, making noises and dropping her bones on the floor." She then took the one Guy was holding and proceeded to put it over in the growing fluff pile as well.

No sooner than the words were out of her mouth, there was scratching up in the rafters and a plop. Another dead offering was dropped and left in the middle of the floor. "Gross," Genevieve's nose was curled from her snarl. "That's the second one she hasn't eaten." There was an abandoned cleaning cloth on the table and grabbing it, she used it to glove her hand. 

As she leaned over to pick the dead mouse up, Guy placed his hand on her wrist. "Allow me. " With no revulsion, he picked the thing up by the tail, opened the shutter a little ways, letting in a blast of cold air, and tossed the carcass into the night. "At least she is doing her job." After bringing the shutters to a close, he went to the wash basin and rinsed his hands. "Do not wash your face in that."

"I didn't intend to." Moving slowly around him, she picked up the basin and dumped it in ... the chamber pot, of all places. She then poured more water into the bowl from the pitcher next to it. "Could be worse. Could be rats." He silently agreed with her. He had seen rats on the wharf as big as cats. They were loathsome, terrifying creatures. He watched as she then made her way back to the fireplace. Turning her back to it, and facing the knight, she lifted the back of her shirt and basked in the heat.

"Does it help?" he blurted. 

Genevieve nodded, her eyes closed. "Somewhat. What I wouldn't give for a heating pad. And Angie, my masseuse." She opened her eyes long enough to see him pick up yet another dead mouse from the floor. "God, you've got an infestation."

"Common problem," he responded. "It is getting cold, so they seek a warmer place to live, just like the rest of us." This time, she noticed he used the cloth to pick up the dead thing. "What is a heating pad?"

She opened her mouth to explain, but ended up to dropping her head. "Another modern day convenience." 

"Ah." He was now standing back in front of her, watching her concentrate on the pain in her back. "Your world is full of… conveniences. Turning knobs that magically pour out hot and cold water...flying." He reached out, two fingers gently lifting her chin, an effort to get her to look at him. "What is a 'heating pad'?"

Genevieve knew it would be a pointless effort to try to side-step him, so she did her best. "A pad that gets hot. I prefer moist heat."

Guy was inspecting her, much like a prize horse and had the numbing effects of the Tylenol and willow bark not kicked in, she would have called him on the carpet for it. "Wet heat. Which is why you had a wet cloth to your back and standing against the fireplace." She nodded, eyes closed. "And you would like a massage. I would be happy to assist you in that, if you would allow it."

Genevieve's mind was floating, barely hearing. "You would do that for me?" 

The long fingers tucked under her chin, moved sensuously along her jawline. "Aye. I would do that. However, there is one thing I would like to do first. More than anything."

"Hmmm." Genevieve lost herself in the tender touch. "And what is that?" 

"I would like to tie you up."

_**~~~...~~~** _

_**Maybe in the parking lot** _

_**~~~...~~~** _


	12. 11 - ...on its own...

_**Manna from Heaven** _

_**Chapter 11** _

_**...on its own...** _

"I would like to tie you up."

Genevieve's jaw dropped and the fact he shocked her, amused Guy to no end. "Excuse me?" 

One side of Guy's mouth lifted in a smirk. "Your wrists. I would tie them up for you." 

For a brief moment, a fire flickered in her eyes. _Interest?_ "You want to tie me up? Aren't you getting a bit ahead of yourself?" It was spoken softly, with a hint of coyness. 

_Ah, most definitely more than a sparkle of interest._ Guy lifted his forearms, showing the ties at them. "Your ties at the wrist. They are dragging the floor and might encumber your sleep." He nodded to keep her from seeing his obvious grin of satisfaction. "I would hate that." He reached out with one hand, palm up. "Please." 

With just a hint of hesitation, she placed her right wrist in cup of his hand, watching as he laced the ties up at and above her wrist, similar to his, before exchanging it for her left. "How do you do this on your own?" 

Guy was thoroughly engrossed in the act. "If I do it on my own, it is wet and a messy knot. I use my teeth. Most of the time however, Joffrey or Thornton aids me with it." He looked up and winked at her. "Unless you would like to do it?" She jerked her arm away just as he tightened down the last knot, surprise clearly written on her face. "Ah, m'lady. If you do not trust me to adjust and tie your clothing properly, how will you trust me for something as simple as a backrub?" 

It was a stand off and both knew it was such. Finally, Genevieve relented. "Well, seeing how you managed to lace me up earlier, without accosting me, I suppose I can trust you in this as well." She bent over, rolling up the extremely long leggings to above her ankles, again, giving him an enjoyable view of her feminine attributes, not that he was complaining, nor would he tell her. 

Once she was rolled up, she made her way to the bed. "Back rub, eh?" She looked at him askance over her shoulder. "Promise you won't try anything?"

Guy closed his eyes for a moment, trying to get his bearings with this woman. Not to mention, she looked fetchingly ridiculous in his clothes. "I tell you true that while I enjoy making love to a woman, I do not enjoy the mess made while loving one during her menstrual cycle." He scowled, something she giggled at. "That is something I never wish to experience again." His scowl deepened, deep in thought. "Nor have I taken an unwilling one to my bed."

Genevieve drew up. "Where did that come from? I would never think you would force yourself on a woman." She cocked her head. "I don't see many women being unwilling when it comes to your bed, Guy."

"You would be surprised."

 

Genevieve climbed up on the bed and turned around to face him. "Guy, I would think that you have women throwing themselves at you." _Yep! The Tylenol and the Willow Bark and other miscellaneous, unknown herbs have kicked in and not only relaxed you, but relaxed your tongue as well! At this rate, you'll be in his bed screaming 'Take me, Big Boy!' the minute your period is over!_

Despite the silliness going on in Genevieve's head, Guy's smile was joyless, utterly without humor. "Serving girls who wish for favors, mostly." Before she could respond, he waved her off. "They do not interest me. I have become more... demanding in recent years."

Genevieve's response when it came, was so soft, he had to struggle to hear. "You are more demanding of your partner in bed or you are more demanding of the requirements of the partner you desire?"

Guy bit his tongue to keep from snapping at her. In the faint glow of the fireplace, she didn't see the tic in his jaw. Rather than lash out, he crossed the room to where she left the cloth she had pressed to her back earlier. Dipping it in the water and wringing it out, he laid it over the fireplace screen to heat it. "Would you like a back rub or not?"

She started to tell him no, but at this moment, the conversation was interesting at least and titillating at best. Perhaps this would set her over the edge and she would sleep in some sort of peace this night. "Yes."

He nodded once before, pointing over his shoulder and stepping from the room. "I have something that might help." Genevieve slid off the bed and quickly spread up the two extra quilts folded at the end of the bed before folding them back at the bottom. She heard him rustling around in his room, a lid banging before he returned, holding a crudely made small glass urn and another wine bottle.

"What's that?"

"Scented oil and wine for you, if you wish. This,” he lifted the wine, “is not as potent." He nodded towards the bed. "Climb up. On your stomach."

She did as he asked and lay down. "Scented oil, Sir Guy? If I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to seduce me." She completely missed his snarky grin. The man had made no bones of his desire for her, but only under the right circumstances and atmosphere. If anything, this would make the woman less argumentative and defensive about it. It was all about the timing. Conquest, indeed. Not hardly! The supporting ropes underneath the bed groaned miserably when the knight joined her, straddling her upper thighs. Grabbing her pillow, she cushioned her head, her hands tucked under. "Between whatever was in the drink Eleanor brought up earlier and the Tylenol I took with it," she gasped slightly as he raised the back of her shirt, "I rather doubt I should have any more of any kind of wine."

Calloused fingers whispered along her spine, in pretense of rolling her shirt and tucking it high. "God forbid I should attempt to seduce an overly-relaxed woman. Where is the delight in that?" Guy dead-panned. He quickly changed the subject. "What is Tylenol?" His fingers traced down her spine, before his thumbs began to work, pressing firmly into her flesh. "Where does your back pain you the most?"

"Lower. In the small." She inhaled sharply when he pressed where she was aching the most.

"There?"

"Yes. Ow." She attempted to stretch, only to find she couldn't with him sitting on her thighs. "Damn, that hurts."

Cool oil was dribbled along her lower spine, the scent of sandalwood rising gently in the air, before he gently went to work on the muscle. "Your language-"

"Yes, I know," she sighed. "My bad. I'm sorry."

Suddenly, he leaned completely over, covering her, and whispered in her ear "Are you _just_ bad? Or are you naughty?"

The question made her giggle. "Go back to what you were doing. It feels good."

Reluctantly, he did as she asked, resettling on his legs, which were folded beneath him. Genevieve buried her face in her pillow, suddenly aware that the man was aroused. Considering what she was feeling, she had the distinct feeling that the reason women were not throwing themselves at him was quite obviously apparent.

He was huge.

Yes, he was tall, well-formed, and enough bulk to shake the rafters when he walked, but he...

He was huge!

The thought made her tingle.

"You did not answer my question. What is Tylenol?"

Grateful to be redirected in her thoughts, she responded, "It's an analgesic."

The lovely fingers came to a halt. "An anal what?"

She laughed again. _Oh yes, very relaxed!_ "An analgesic. A pain-killer. Between the Tylenol, the wine, the whatever was in the wine, and your wonderful fingers, I should be jello." She snickered at the thought. "In fact, I am probably jello now."

"And jello would be?"

"No bones," she whispered. "No bones at all. Jiggles when you eat it. Pliable, limp as a wet dishrag."

_Jiggles when you eat..._ Guy had a hard time shaking that visual off.

For a time, there was nothing, save the movement of strong fingers manipulating muscles of a tense, tight back, the man doing everything in his power to keep his mind off the sweetness between his legs.

_She is drooping, barely lucid. Turn her over. She would not put up a-_

"Guy?"

_Control. Must maintain control._

"Hmmm?"

"Can I be nosy?"

The knight didn't stop his ministrations, instead concentrating on the movement of his fingers and the subtle gyration of her skin. "You may ask. It does not mean I will answer."

"Fair enough." She sounded rather tired, completely unwound. "When you said you have become more demanding in your bed partners, what exactly did you mean?"

He was silent for so long, Genevieve thought he decided not to answer. She fell back into that blissful state of almost unawareness.

"I no longer desire or enjoy temporary dalliances."

"Ah. So no more one night stands for Sir Guy." She waited for him to continue, elaborate, but when he did not, she inhaled. "How old are you, Guy?"

"Six and thirty." His thumbs pressed deeply, shoving the air from her lungs. "I have been told it is discourteous and boorish to ask a woman her age, yet a woman may ask a man his. I consider this unfair."

"I'm thirty-five," she responded with a snicker. "So if you wish a permanent bed partner, why don't you just get married?"

The fingers stopped.

If she could have banged her head against a brick wall for her seemingly uncaring and cold comment, she would have. "I'm sorry. That was callous and unthinking of me."

The fingers resumed. "It is an honest question. You are correct; I should get married. I have land, title, wealth which I expect to increase and I am very much in need of an heir." The fingers splayed out, reaching to her sides, sensitive to if she was ticklish. "For many years, I have been focused on regaining what was mine, something that would entice a woman of standing. Now that I have it..." his voice trailed off.

"Forgive me, but my history is vague. If you are titled, have wealth, surely you can arrange a political match?"

He snorted. "A political arrangement," he snorted derisively. "I suppose it is safe to assume, that is not done in your time."

She was quiet for a moment. "In my culture, no. It's not done. There are women who would be considered gold-diggers."

"A wot?"

Genevieve was slipping closer and closer into a dreamy state. "A gold-digger. A woman who simply marries for money. It's considered cold and callous. Most prefer to marry for love."

"Here, political matches are considered good business, necessary. It strengthens ties and alliances between families and property." He was quiet as he seemingly focused on his task. "Love is not a requirement." His thumbs continued to press, but even to Genevieve's dulled senses, the man sounded deeply distressed at the thought of not loving his future bride. Before she could question him further, he rumbled on. "Chances are, when things settle down, I will do that; arrange a marriage." For some odd reason, the statement made Genevieve green with jealousy. "However, as it stands, I am a Black Knight and most landed fathers will not consider a match with me until John is king."

"Why is that?" Her voice was getting softer and softer. By this time, Guy had mentally wandered off into his own corner of the world, a dark and bleak place.

"John is simply Richard's regent. England's so-called king has only stepped foot on England's soil once before he ran off to fight Rome's war with the Turks, taking as much of England's coffers with him as he could pack when he left. We are revenue to him and nothing more." He snorted. "He does not even speak our language. We are nothing to him, but money."

Again there was a long, drawn-out silence.

"You didn't answer my question. What does being a Black Knight mean and why do you have to wait until John is king?"

Truthfully, Genevieve didn't want to hear the answer, but she was starting to simply love the sound of his voice.

"As a Black Knight, I have openly thrown my lot and support in with Prince John. His father Henry made it clear he wished for John to be King of England, however their mother, Eleanor of Aquitaine, made sure her favorite - Richard, Cœur de Lion, became king. If Richard survives this war, he could return home and have all of our heads. He could pardon John; he could pardon the knights and lords who have sided with John. He could decide he wishes to reward those who supported him in the Holy Lands, take the Black Knights and Brotherhood’s holdings to reward them with, dispossess and behead us all." For not the first time, he had a strange premonition, of him kneeling in front of a chunk of wood, his sister sitting in the sheriff's chair in Nottingham, demanding his execution.

_But that cannot be right. Isabella hated him, but not enough to kill him. Besides, who in their right mind would make a woman sheriff?_

"Needless to say," he rushed on, attempting to erase the thought, "no father would align himself through marriage with such as me until such is decided, regardless of how annoying the chit is."

"So, why have you made such a bold and open statement?"

He thought for a moment. "Because, in order to achieve one's goals, one must be bold." Those wonderful fingers pressed upwards; Genevieve could have sworn she heard her back pop. "I am ambitious. By openly supporting John, I stand to gain much more power and prestige than I would by sitting by and allowing Richard to bleed this country dry. If you own your own business, as you claim, I would think you would be a very bold woman and would understand."

Genevieve turned on her side, Guy's hands now splayed about her waistline, the long digits stroking the soft curve of her abdomen. "If Richard returns, what will you do? Beg for a pardon? Mercy?"

He had been waiting for that question. It was one he had not pondered on; instead he had made that decision soon after he aligned himself with the prince and Vaisey's Black Brotherhood. "I will beg for nothing. If Richard returns to the shores of England, I will gather as much gold and silver as I can carry and leave this cursed island."

Besides, after two failed attempts on Richard’s life, Guy’s life was forfeit, if the king returned to England and he knew it. He could have gotten away with the first attempt, but no doubt the man overheard Guy’s argument with Marian, as well as his obvious intent to kill England’s monarch and would not pardon the knight for any reason. Nothing and no one could or would save him from Richard’s ax man. Nor would Hood allow it. The man would kill him himself!

And strangely enough, after months of truly desiring to die, battling demons in his sleep and now on occasion, waking hours, Guy at this moment wanted to live! He would never forgive himself for taking Marian's life, but by God-

"And go where?"

Physically, she was becoming a distraction. He was beyond hard, aching, and he suspected she realized it. He flipped her back on her stomach and returned to work on her spine. He poured more oil and began to knead it into her skin. "France."

"Ah. Your mother was from there. You have family who would help you."

His hands stopped. "My mother had family, yes, but they are no family to me." Genevieve could hear the gritty, underlying anger in his voice, an overly-sensitive razor-sharp edge, for a long, never healed hurt. Something happened, something bad, and she didn't have the nerve to dig deeper. What a wretched childhood this man must have had. Suddenly, Guy’s private, little glen became much more precious to her. "I do have...friends." His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. "Friends I pray have not forgotten me. I could start again."

_Without Vaisey and his schemes. I could begin honestly, like my father did. I could do it honestly._

_But I thought I was doing it honestly._

He swallowed once, hard enough for Genevieve to have heard, had she been lucid. "I would purchase a home, in the south of France, perhaps Province or more likely, in Languedoc; buy some property." His mouth twitched upwards in semblance of a smile. "Grow grapes. Make wine. Never lift a sword again; only wine bottles."

Genevieve was so relaxed, she almost felt as if she had drank several bottles of Guy's intoxicating, imaginary wine. "No more training guards, only watching beautiful young women with their skirts hiked up, stomping on grapes."

"You know," Guy's voice was almost jovial, "I had never thought or considered that." He slid off her legs and stretched out next to her, his head propped up on his hand. "Perhaps I will not marry at all; simply swive my wine-girls." With his free hand, he reached over and tucked her hair behind her ear, a long oil-slick finger caressing her cheek.

"I thought you were tired of temporary dalliances."

"True, but if they are rotated, much like a Sultan's harem..."

"GUY!" Her head rose from the pillow.

Guy continued as if she had not said a word. "Then again, it would be like having many wives. I think one would be enough." He shrugged. "Truly, I have no idea how the Arabs manage more than one." He appeared to think deeply. "The thought exhausts me." He now looked at her, his pupils so dilated, they appeared to be black. "What think you?"

Genevieve shook her head before dropping it with a thud back on the pillow. "I think you have a glorious sense of humor that you don't let out very often, which is a shame."

Now Guy did smile, a beautiful thing, although she missed it, before patting her on the butt and rising from the bed. "Moist heat, aye?"

"Mmm mmmmm." The response was greatly muffled by the pillow.

The cloth he left on the screen was quite warm and he picked it up by his fingertips. "This is very hot. Are you sure?"

"Mmmst mmmmph mmmmt."

"Come again?" He had returned to the bed.

Genevieve lifted up just enough. "Just do it."

Guy shrugged. "If you insist." Folding it length-wise, he laid the searing, wet cloth across the small of her back.

She didn't budge. "Oh God," she moaned. "That feels so good."

"I must admit, that I now understand why you were laughing so much earlier."

"Hmmm?"

"My clothing looks ridiculous on you." Guy leaned over to retuck her shirt back up when something caught his eye.

_Not again..._

Taking a taper from the fireplace, he sat down on the bed, unmindful of Genevieve's semi-pain-killer-induced haze. He inspected her left side, horrified at what he was seeing. "Genevieve?"

"Mmmm mmmm?"

"I believe you told me Robin Hood did not harm you."

"No. He didn't. He didn’t touch me."

Grasping the tie-waist of her - _his_ \- pants, he yanked them down, exposing the generous curve of her hip.

"HEY!" She shot up.

Guy shoved the candle in her face. "Hold this."

"NO! What are you doing?" Guy was pulling harder, attempting to bare her entire hip. She grabbed the waistband and attempted to pull it up.

Guy was paying no attention that he was disrobing her; much less that he was baring her to the air. What he was seeing was disturbing.

_Bruises. Black, blue, and yellow bruises._

Turning the waistband loose, he went to her pant leg and pulled it up.

_More bruises._

He started to grasp the bottoms, yank them from her to get a better view, but she was now smacking his hands.

"Woman! Look at your side!" This seemed to stop her for the time being.

"Oh my God." Now she was twisting, turning, attempting to look herself. She pulled up on the shirt, inspecting her side. "They look awful!" She then rebared the hip she had fought to keep covered. "How did that happen?"

Guy rose from the bed to put the now blown-out candle on the fireplace mantel. "I hoped you could tell me. You said Robin did not touch you." He snapped his fingers. "Allan A-Dale-"

"If you mean the man who took my necklace, I was on the ground already - sitting," she clarified when she saw Guy's furious, black look. "We rolled, but not enough to do this!"

Guy returned to the bed, leaning up against a post and crossing his feet at the ankle up on the bed. "Was there anyone else?"

"Well," Genevieve was trying to remember, "there was this woman who attacked me-"

"Wot! Kate attacked you?" He sat up, infuriated.

"Is that her name?" Genevieve asked sullenly. "Now, there's a bar bitch if I've ever met one! I'm certain Robin sent her into the thicket to grab me, but I wasn't going without a fight."

Guy had his finger in the air. "Wait. You and Kate in a thicket. What exactly happened for you and Michael to become captured?" With his bath and dinner, Guy had not had a chance to interrogate his armsman and in fact had decided to do it on the way to Nottingham in the morning, while he decided how he was going to punish the guard. He liked Michael; the man was an above decent shot with a bow and he was congenial, followed orders without complaint.

"We were racing." Genevieve was now in the process of sitting up, trying to keep the compress on her back. She backed up into the headboard of the bed. "Somehow, Michael became unhorsed and when I realized it, I heard him tell me to run. Then there was a loud 'thump'."

"Why did you not run?" If Michael told her to run and she did not, she would be in much trouble as well.

"Run where?" Her voice was incredulous. "I had no idea where I was, where I was going. The man set to guard and watch over me was behind me, sidelined by who knows who. I can just imagine me showing up in a strange village, where I knew no one, dressed in my jeans and a tunic. The people of Locksley might be used to my wild clothing, but I imagine if I tore into a new town dressed that way, they would have accused me of being a witch."

"Considering the road you were on, you would have ridden straight into Nottingham. The sheriff," he sneered, "would have had a field day and by the time I was notified and came to retrieve you, either he or my sister would have pressed you up the wall." The sneer turned in to a smirk. "Truthfully, at first I feared for you if you fell in their clutches. Now, I fear for them. Continue."

She told him about dismounting, circling back through the thicket, with both horses. She noticed his smile of approval when she told him of Kate trying to subdue her and not expecting the fight Genevieve put up.

"You gave her a black eye? You are sure?"

"Yes."

"Good girl." Guy decided at that point, Genevieve had earned a reward. Question was - what KIND of reward?

"Either way, we must have been making some serious racket; I swear that woman fights like a girl! Next thing I knew, a giant black man in a friar's robe has me in one hand and that woman in the other and literally hauls us into the open!" She repositioned her back, clearly uncomfortable.

"That would be Friar Tuck. He has traveled supposedly through many lands. He is considered very learned. " He draped his arms over his pulled-up knees. "Do not tell a soul, but Vaisey is terrified of him. Thinks he is a sorcerer. I think, he is simply erudite of knowledge not thought of here in Western Europe."

A jolt of memory flashed in Genevieve's tired and drugged mind, a snippet of a lecture from a history class fifteen years before. The professor, probably older than Methuselah, was droning on and on about how 'behind' Western Europe was in comparison to the Turks, the Byzantines and even China. To the best of her recollection, the professor seemed to believe that the reason for such was the lack of education for the vast majority of the population. To the best of her recollection, he considered Asia and Africa more enlightened.

"Regardless," Genevieve continued, "I suppose in the ruckus, Kate did this. Strange," she murmured, "I don't recall her giving me this bad of a beating. I think I would have won had the good friar not interrupted us."

Guy wanted to believe her. He wanted a rational explanation to the bruising, however...

"You don't think that is how I got these, do you?"

Guy had to shake his head. "No. Truth is, they are similar to what was on your arm the night before last. If they are related, the bruising should be gone in the morning. I would like to know what causes them." In the low light, he looked up, his visage dark. "It is worrisome."

The two sat in companionable silence for a short time, each ruminating on their own thoughts. It was a comfortable stillness, amiable...

"Thank you for the backrub." Her voice rose from the darkness. "Someone taught you well."

Guy reached forward, taking her by the ankle and pulled her down the bed. "My sister and I were alone in the world for some time. Her back would ache as well and we discovered me rubbing it helped."

_Not to mention the fine tutelage of several... ladies... Lady Aedyth..._

"You and she were close once."

"Once." He now had her in perfect position. Lifting up, he straddled her again. "We only had each other." Gently, he settled over her lap. Long fingers splayed over her cheeks, cupping her face into the immense size of his hands. She was focused on his mouth.

"I always wanted brothers and sisters. It... didn't happen."

"Why not?"

"I..." she was watching as his mouth moved closer and closer. "my... grandmother raised me."

"Why?" It was a whisper, his breath, and the gentle scent of the wine he drank earlier in the evening, floated in the air between them. "Did something happen to your parents?"

She gave him the safest answer. "Yes."

“I am sorry.”

It was the last coherent thought she had for a while, for at that moment, he closed the gap and descended on her much as he had before.

Again, there was the fleeting vision of butterflies as he explored her, her mouth. For a short time, he kept his tongue to himself, choosing to taste her, explore the tip of her cupid's bow, her upper lip. It wasn't until she groaned in frustration that he opened up, tipped her back and covered her fully on the bed.

Their mouths never lost contact, as he stretched her across the mattress. Once more, she was fully aware of his physical size and prowess. Her legs parted on their own volition, cradling him within the heated juncture.

For some time, they lay, cocooned in each other, tasting, exploring. Genevieve was frantic, her hands dancing, cupping the curve…

“Genevieve.” Guy’s voice was breathless and he pulled back.

“Noooo.” She pulled him back to her.

Angry, at himself, for allowing this to happen, allowing it to get this far, he pulled her hands from his neck and pinned them to the bed. “Genevieve. We cannot start what we cannot finish-”

“But you’ve started it.”

“Aye, I have. And I am sorry. But I do not wish a mess and when I take you, I want to taste all of you, not specific pieces.” He dipped, his mouth encircling her ear. “And yes, my lady, I will have you and I would have you come to my bed willingly.” For a moment, darkness in his soul descended, the memory of Marian pushing him away how many times…

_I am not a debaser of women._

“Do I seem unwilling?”

He pushed himself up and off the bed, cruelly hoping she was as uncomfortable as he was.

“Here. Take the cloth.” Genevieve pulled the wet make-shift heating pad from her back and handed it to him. “It’s cold and icky now.” She was obviously frustrated and peevish.

As he took the cloth, he realized that in addition, she was sluggish and her eyes were heavy. Most likely, a good thing he was able to exercise self-control. No doubt, she would be as limp as the cloth he took from her and slung to the table next to the washbasin. He restoked the fire before leaving, watching as she wrapped herself under the covers.

She was asleep by the time he closed the door.

_**  
~~~…~~~** _

Guy leaned against the fireplace, the fire low, with an almost empty bottle of wine on the mantle. Despite his downing of the majority of the drink, he still remained hard and insistent, so he stood, clothed in nothing but his tunic, slowly massaging a painfully hardened member and hoping that rather than dribble drunkenly down his hand and leg, making a wretched mess, he could shoot a decent wad into the flames.

_I played these games as a teenager! Where is my pride? I am too old for this!_

Realizing he would never finish unless he let his mind wander towards carnal pursuits, he leaned forward, resting his forehead on his arm, which was propped on the mantle, continuing to stroke, and stared into the crackling fire.

He had been a mess when he arrived in London. He fully expected John to kill him, as did Vaisey. In fact, that’s why Vaisey sent him. Let John do his dirty work. Vaisey liked to keep his hands clean and let someone else do the killing. After all, was that not how Guy obtained his Master of Arms position? Once one is no longer useful to him, Vaisey moved his underlings up, killing them off with their own underlings. Guy knew this well. He himself had killed three men above him in order to promote himself. And Vaisey was fairly honest when he stated Gisborne was useless in his current state.

He was. Even Guy admitted that.

And it was why he watched his back. He often wondered which one of his own men were watching, lying in wait to do him in, to take his own spot…

But John...John was smart, much smarter than Vaisey or any of the Black Brotherhood realized. And cunning to boot. He sat on his ’throne’ elevated, so as to appear taller than he was and stared at Guy with those dark eyes of his.

“Sent you to me, to make his excuses for his failings, did he?” Guy didn’t answer. “The coward.”

And rather than throw him in the dungeon, John sat him at the High Table next to Lady Aedyth, a mature woman in her late forties with the ability to make sparkling small talk that kept the Black Knight occupied and not looking like a bumpkin while at the same time, filling him in on court intrigues and gossip.

Guy did not like court intrigues. He was learning to appreciate his own estate in the country, but at times, one must do what one had to do and he was rather fond of his head being attached to his neck.

So, he paid attention…

…to the fact that John was an adept manipulator…

…that John was also an able tactician and well versed in politics…

…that John would be an _English_ king, unlike Richard…

…that John was aware that there were those who would attempt to use him as a puppet…

…and he had plans; ugly, unforgiving plans for them…

…to the fact that Lady Aedyth leaned very close when she whispered in his ear…

…and her dress was cut very, very low.

Many times since that first night, he scolded himself for giving in to base desires, for using Aedyth for his own fleshly pursuits, for relieving his earthly hunger on her, for using her in attempt to forget Marian.

He also chided himself for allowing Aedyth to use him in equal fashion, for allowing her to manipulate him, use his body, for her own wanton requirements. One thing he had never done before her, regardless of his need, was to lay with a married woman. As crass and as lusty as he was, he had strong opinions about promises made before God, and to break them was to court damnation. Rather than pursue Guy, or any other man, she should concentrate on being…

_A good wife…_

Guy tightened his grip, stroking longer…firmer.

But she was persistent; knew how to get what she wanted and Guy learned more under her tutelage than Vaisey ever would teach him.

The last night they were together, Aedyth taught him a lesson he would never forget…one that he would actually in a strange way, come to cherish…

_**~~~…~~~** _

__  
Aedyth liked to play games. Naughty, naughty games.

_“You don't like this, do you darling?”_  
 __  
Guy shook his head. He was sweating; the heat from the fireplace was almost intolerable. “No.”  
 _  
Aedyth had him tied spread eagle on the bed. He was wearing nothing but his shirt, while she was in a thin, hand-embroidered chemise; so thin, her dark nipples showed through. She had oiled her hand and was stroking him into oblivion._

_“No, you wouldn't. You're too domineering, like to be in charge and right now, all the control is wrested from you. I imagine your mind is working trying to figure out how to get out you of this little predicament.” He jerked, close to release. “No no no. You are not allowed to finish. Not yet.” She lifted her hand, abandoning his prick and moving upwards to taunt his nipples. “Someday soon, you will feel the need to marry, take a bride, whether you wish it or not. You need heirs, my love and plenty of them.” She continued to taunt, now tracing back down to his navel and finding the thin trail of hair from his abdomen to his groin. Teasing him, tickling him about his thighs. “I have heard the rumors; you love a dead woman. That is all well and good, but she cannot give you what you need, save heartache and unrequited fantasy. You have reached the bottom, my sweet. Push off hard and rise to the top, over these wretched mortals who would be your betters.”_

_Again, she grasped him, pulling firmly. “When you look for a bride, find one not so young and biddable. Hopefully,” she was not looking at him, but away, staring into the fire, and Guy thought he saw a tear, “you will fall in love with her or at the very least care for her. Value her, my pet and treat her like a princess, even if she is not one. She should not be a total imbecile. Find an intelligent, independent woman, who will beg for your attention when the bedroom door is closed. Dote on her, make her pleasure your own, so she will become yours and yours alone and will never wish to leave your side. Believe me,” Aedyth continued in a whisper, “if you find a compassionate woman, your pleasure will be just as important to her, if not more so, if you strive that she reaches her peak every time.”_

_He started to snap at her. He was not and had never been an inconsiderate lover! Instead…“Is that…” he caught his breath, resisting the urge to spill too soon, “why you have strayed? Your husband does not give you pleasure?”_

_He received a smart smack on his thigh. “You know the rules, my darling. Do not ask of me. I have not and will not ever ask of you.” Her fingers now delved beneath his sack, slick fingers sliding to places-_

_“No!” He clenched, tried to move away from her. “Some things, you are to leave be.”_

_Aedyth made a moue. “And if I do not?”_

_Guy glared at her with all the fury he had. “You have to untie me, sometime.”_

_She shrugged. “I do not have to. I can leave you here for the chambermaids to find.”_

 

_“And I will surely find you and you will not like it. I will not care the consequences of wringing your neck.”_  
 _  
For a moment, Aedyth honestly looked terrified. She knew his threat was not an empty one. Rumor had it he had killed the woman he loved in a jealous rage. Smiling, she returned to stroking him. “It is not so much fun to play with anyway. I just wanted to see you squirm.” It was quiet for some minutes, while she ministered to him, bringing him back to peak._

_“Remember this - this is how your bride will feel, how your submissive will think. How do I please you if I cannot touch you? Will you cease when you do something that makes her uncomfortable or passes her limits? You, too, should learn control because her pleasure is your responsibility. While you will teach her to respond at your command, by the sound of your voice, to come to completion at your behest, so must you exert self-control over yourself. Even if you are spent, her joy is still your responsibility and even a loving and loyal submissive will become disenchanted if she is left wanting time and time and time again. Their eye will wander.”_

_“Much like yours has wandered.”_

_Her strokes became faster, firmer, almost painful. “You are too belligerent for your own good.” Before much longer, Guy’s hips began to jerk involuntarily. His growl of release was audible through the apartment and into the hall, had anyone been there, the heat of his seed spraying over her hand and onto his abdomen._

_Before he finished, the woman inhaled him, suckled up his essence like a starving urchin, and then continuing up his stomach, cleaning him, much like a cat over spilt milk. When there was nothing left, she untied him and lifted herself from the bed._  
 _  
“Get dressed, my sweet, and leave. Do not come back.”_

_“I am being dismissed? So easily?” Not even dressed and she was treating him away like a dog begging for table scraps. “Because I will not allow you to play with what you have me plunder?”_

_Aedyth was leaving the bedroom and floating into the sitting area. Something about the set of her shoulders however, was not right. She stopped in the doorway, her back to him. “My husband returns from the Holy Land and I need to be home to greet him. My maids will pack my things tomorrow and we will depart London at dawn the next day, so I no longer have the time to dally with you. John expects his weapon to arrive within the week and you will be returning with it to Nottingham, with a great task to complete. He has great faith in you. So do I and I expect you will do well.”_

_With that, she glided into the sitting area._

_Guy sat up, rubbing his wrists and began to reach for his trousers, when something she said earlier came back. Rising from the bed, he walked nude into the sitting area, Aedyth now working on a piece of embroidery. Kneeling in front of her, he removed the material from her hands. “And what kind of lover would I be if I left you wanting?”_

_In the firelight, he could see tears… tears?... in her eyes. She leaned over and caressed his jaw. “Guy. Please understand me. I love my husband. I truly do. And he loves me. ‘Tis a rare thing anymore, for two people of our standing to fall in love and marry and stay in love. He has given me beautiful children and treats me well. However,” with this her face fell, “before he went to the Holy Lands, he befell an accident and has been unable to perform his husbandly duties. He did not go to the Holy Land to fight with Richard. He went to find a cure. I did not think he would find one.”_

_“Did he?” Guy spread her legs, gently lifting one each, over his shoulders._

_“I do not know. It would not matter.”_

_One long finger cut a path through her lower lips. She was wet, wanting. “What kind of man would leave his lover wanting? I will not depart with you in this state of want.”_

_“It doesn’t matter, darling. I can finish myself.”_

_He sniffed disdainfully. "And what did you just teach me in your bed?" He pulled her forward, blowing on her clit. "Besides, I can finish you better.” And grasping her thighs firmly with his hands, he buried his mouth around her, tipping her backwards and sucking until…_

_**~~~…~~~** _

In Guy’s mind, the woman he was pleasuring changed. Where Aedyth was tall, his fantasy lover shrank, barely coming to his chest if they stood. Curves became more pronounced, breasts firmer, thighs fleshier. Long blonde hair turned into a bobbed dark…

_  
**~~~…~~~** _

“Oh… _Ggggggggguuuuod!”_

He jerked… once… twice… spurting an admirable distance into the fire, not that he noticed. He was too busy now fantasizing about a beautiful brunette, squirming beneath him...

Clawing at his back…

He cried out once.

_“Genevieve.”_

_**~~~…~~~** _

_**Better bring your friend along** _

_**~~~…~~~** _

_A/N – thank you for putting up with the crazy posting. Sadly while my computer was finally returned last week, it was not returned in working order and I’ve had to send it BACK. Last I checked, it was taking the scenic route to California and by the time the ordeal is over, it will have seen more places than I have. At this point, I don’t expect to have it back for 2 to 3 weeks._


	13. 12 - ...way...

_**Manna from Heaven** _

_**Chapter 12** _

_**...way...** _

_He wandered the desert._

_Sand. Endless sand. Why anyone would want to live here was beyond him._   
_  
An arrow whizzed past his ear. The Knight was so deep in his doldrums, he turned and spread his arms. "Wot? Yer aim is that off?" He continued to back up. "I thought you were a better shot than that!"_

_Rather than hear the anticipated response, he heard giggling. Giggling. A female's giggling. Squinting in the sun, he watched as a diminutive woman skipped along the dune, kicking up sand, laughing at the spray._

_"You know, darling," Aedyth was standing next to him, naked, save jewelry dripping from her nipples. "I am not jealous of her. Your time does not burden her. But,” she tapped his arm, “her time will be a heavy weight on her shoulders. Remember what I told you. Do not mourn what you cannot have. Enjoy."_

_"But-"_

_"You cannot fix the past, my sweet." Aedyth was now fading. "All you can do is move forward and try to do a better job living your life."_

_"But-"_  
  
 _"Be a better man, Guy." He jerked, to see Marian standing at his other elbow. She was clothed in transparent white, the torso stained red with blood. "Be the man I know you can be, the one I know you truly are." He felt her touch his elbow. "Be that man. Let me go."_

_"I killed you." It was wrung from him, a painful, painful admission._

_"Become a better man, Guy. Do it for me." Marian flung her arm, pointing at the tiny woman, dancing on the dune. "You are a knight! Remember your creed, your oath! Protect the innocent, the defenseless, and the helpless poor. I am none of these. I do not need your protection! Let me go."_

_She faded away while he stared at the woman heedless of her surroundings._

_Protect the innocent..._

_Protect the innocent..._

_Protect the defenseless..._

_...the defenseless..._

_...the defenseless..._

_She is defenseless..._

_**~~~...~~~** _

Too many times, Guy was up in the night, listening. More than once, he rose from the bed to check on Genevieve, only to fling himself back to the mattress. What little sleep he got was fitful, humid, dream-filled.

He decided he hated sand. 

Finally, the cock crowed and he quietly made his way over to her room. Creeping in silence, he stole in the doorway, snarling at the two dead mice in the floor. He did away with them, taking great care to not wake her or disturb the kittens. The room was cold and he stirred the fireplace, casting a soft glow about the room. 

Guy wanted to check her side, her hip, to see if there was still bruising, but when he leaned over the bed, he saw that she was cocooned in the quilts and shivering. 

_'Tis not that cold!_

There was a stirring downstairs, so he left, wondering why he was concerned the servants would find him in her room. She would be in his bed soon enough and he could care less what they thought. He slipped out of her chambers as noiseless as he had come in. 

For not the first time, he felt conflict, guilt, over wanting to bed her, to openly make her his. He had wanted Marian; wanted her badly, but he had been content to wait for their wedding day. She was a virgin, a maid, and he fantasized taking her that first time.  
 _  
Teasing her... opening her like a flower and introducing her to every sensual delight he could think possibly of._

Genevieve, on the other hand, was admittedly no innocent maid, her virginity tossed and given to God knows who and who knew when. At times, her language was earthy and she insinuated a desire to experiment. She had...toys. Who in this day and age had adult toys? One needed toys for that sort of thing? She embraced her sexuality much like a man did. He was NOT content to wait for marriage; in fact was unsure if marriage was the correct path for them, if plausible at all. If she were truly from another time, the two of them had no future! She could be jerked from his life at any time. If he were a true gentleman, a true pious, (HA!) or virtuous knight, he would leave her be. To continue to refuse to do so would be no more than treating her as a whore.

And yet, she was no whore... no slattern. 

And why was Marian telling him she was defenseless? Who did Genevieve need protection from?  
 _  
Ficklebutte? Lamar? Who is this Lamar person anyway and why does she curse him in her sleep?_

_What did he do to her?_

In the depths of his musings, he realized he stood outside her door again, one of his quilts in hand. Again, he crept into the room and approaching the bed, gently laid the quilt over her. For some odd reason, he felt the need to tuck it around her, smirking at her child-like snuggling in.

“Thank you.” It was a murmur, barely audible.

“You are welcome,” he whispered back.

_**~~~...~~~** _

Despite Guy's ministrations, self-control, and gentle, tender romancing the night before, and yes, he knew last eve was long, tender manipulative foreplay; Genevieve came to breakfast in the foulest of moods. The air was chill and the knight was at a loss as if it were the weather or the woman. She huddled in her chair, glaring at the fireplace, at Godric, who ducked his head and stepped backwards, into the shadows.

Guy had forgotten the sudden mood swings a woman would get during her time of the month. For the most part, Isabella simply cried, was completely useless for one to two days. Marian? Marian was push-offish anyway. Genevieve, on the other hand, was down right nasty. It made the man want to rush off to Nottingham... no. Send her to Nottingham and unleash her on Vaisey.

"Did you sleep well?"

"Yes." It was clipped, curt. At least she wasn't yelling.

"The bruising-"

"Gone," Genevieve snarled. She had a link of sausage speared on her eating knife and was glowering at it as if it were the last living enemy on a battlefield and she had it surrounded. 

"So pleased to hear that." It was a murmur, spoken under his breath. "Are you equally dreadful and spiteful to your precious peasants during your woman's time?"

Genevieve's vile attention pinned him for a moment. Staring at him with all the malevolence she could muster, she thrust the knife in her mouth, her teeth scrapping the dull metal blade. Chewing with the fury of a storm, she swallowed harshly before taking a breath. "I'm sorry. Right now, I hate everyone and I shouldn't be taking it out on you or anyone else." She sighed. “Especially after last night, which was wonderful, thank you very much.”

"Perhaps I should turn you lose in Sherwood. You might rid me of Hood."

Genevieve's knuckles were white wrapped around her eating utensil. "Hood, that bar bitch, and the rat ba-a-asssss-" she saw the staff staring at her in horror. "-sssssssssorry."

Guy stood up, a faint smile on his face. "I would suggest that whatever does not kill you should perhaps start running." Genevieve was snarling at her bread and nodding affirmatively. He jerked his head towards Thornton and made his way to the door, grabbing his mailed vest and pulling it on. "Whatever it was you gave her last night, give her plenty of it today."

"Yes, Sir Guy."

Having gotten into the heavy vest, the knight began to buckle up the fastenings. Joffrey had joined them. "She is not to go riding. It would be best for all if she simply stayed in today. Tie her to my bed if she tries." He inwardly smirked at the look on Joffrey's face. Thornton however, took the comment in stride. He looked over Thornton's shoulder. "Genevieve. You are not to ride until I get home."

She waved at him, not looking. 

Guy started to threaten her with dire consequences if she disobeyed, but decided that perhaps her excursion and run-in with Hood the day before would curtail her wanderings and force her to think twice. 

Then again, considering her mood and her delicate condition, she would conceivably be satisfied to stay indoors this day. With that in mind, he left the hall to saddle his horse. 

Genevieve took several more bites, before abandoning her plate. She gave a half-hearted smile when Thornton sat a pewter goblet in front of her. "Would that, by chance, be the same stuff you gave me yesterday evening?" 

"That it would, Lady Genevieve." 

"Good." She finally raised her eyes to the gentle visage of the man. "Keep me in it." She again waved the air in front of her. "I'm heading to my room and plan to stay there today." 

“Sir Guy suggested that would most likely be for the best.” 

“I’ll bet,” she snarled. She rose from her chair, bringing the chalice with her. 

"Shall I send someone up to restoke your fire in the hearth?" 

"Yes." She turned and headed towards the stairs. "And bring a rag or a broom so we can dispense with the mouse carcasses." 

"The cat is doing her job, Lady Genevieve?" 

"Very well." She tripped on her dress rising to the first step, before remembering to lift it. "Does she have a name?" 

"Name a cat? Whatever for?" 

Genevieve stopped for a moment, before shaking her head. "Fine. Her name is Tabby."

"As you wish." _Damn, the man was just the most agreeable human being on the earth. Too bad he was 900 years ahead of my time. He'd be perfect for Grandma!_

Joffrey followed up behind her, reviving and raising the fire in the fireplace, rewarming the room. He speculated that the day should warm up somewhat later in the day, before leaving her in peace. As soon as his footfalls went back down the stairs, Genevieve grabbed her bag and pulled the iPad out. 

"Yes!" she whispered as the screen lit up after she pressed the power button. Laying it aside, she grabbed her notebook, flipping to the 'translation' Guy had painstakingly written out two days past. She then worked her way to the original on her iPad.

Sure enough, much to her dismay...

_Upon completion of sale, seller agrees to abstain from competition with Buyer within the business in North America, Latin America and Europe for thirty years. To ensure absence of conflict of interest, Seller will not employ, become employed by or consult with any other firm... Seller will not create a new firm; Seller will not employ any former employee for thirty years. Seller will not establish new contacts nor will seller hire out or consult. Seller will not establish new clients for any architectural purpose...Seller will abandon contacts..._

DAMN! What am I supposed to do for the rest of my life? Work at a Quik Trip? For thirty years? Or move to Asia or South America. Oh that's ripe! 

Out of ire, she grabbed her sketchpad, flipping to the page where she had begun work on the Strandage-Couch offer. If she signed this contract and took the money, she could throw this out the window. This was a death knell if she accepted it. By the time the allotted time was up, she would be so old and things... would have changed. No one would hire her because her skills would be...

_Rusty. Out of date._

She returned to the contract. There was more that Guy hadn't gotten to. What she saw made her retch.

_Regarding education and skills, seller will not seek higher or continuing education-_

_**WHAT?** _

_-nor will seller seek employment within the university level in this field._

In the back of her head, a small worry knot began, signally the beginning of a headache. Without thinking, she popped open the Tylenol, not noticing that the two she had taken the night before had mysteriously replaced themselves and downed them with the doctored, watered wine.

_It's like they don't just want my business... they want me out of the business. Permanently. They don't want me keeping up with the newest gadgets, the newest ideas, much less teaching... how... restrictive can you get?_

Regardless, she was quite certain that legally, Ficklebutt couldn't demand she completely abandon her chosen profession, nor could they insist she not work in half the global world, much less demand she not seek to keep her skills up, or teach? What did a professor make anyway? No judge would allow that, would they? 

The need to hire a new attorney immediately was necessary and grabbing a pencil, she began a new bullet list, with that being the first thing. 

_Val. I need to talk to Val... She can start that process while I'm here... laid up. Oh, I need to sleep and dream right this very second!_

So infuriated, she knew that continuing would probably only make her see red, as well as more than likely continuing in this same vein would cause her to swear the thatch off the roof. She didn't think she wanted a second trip to the small chapel with the priest whose eyes seemed to be a different color every time he moved. Besides, he might make her gargle in holy water this time... she had no idea how to recite a Hail Mary.

The room was warming up and suddenly, Genevieve had the urge, the desire to pull on Guy's old comfy clothes, crawl back under the quilts and ... and... 

There were books on her iPad.   
_  
YES!_

Quickly, she pulled her dress off and tossed on the shirt she'd slept in the night before. She didn't bother with the ties and ignored the pants. Picking up the iPad, she moved to the book section. She had recently downloaded the newest Paul Christopher’s Templar series, as well as the more recent Alex Archer... now where are they? 

She moved the table of contents back and forth several times, her happiness and the thought of crawling in bed to read quickly diminishing. There were books but they weren't... her books. She began to look closely.

_A Knight's Caress?_ What the... 

_Evie's Knight, A Knight's Persuasion, Only in her Dreams, Seducing the Knight, Sword of the Raven, Oh Geez.., Wild Viking…WHAT? Wild Viking Princess - is that for real? A Man of Value, Warrior’s Bride, Passion in the Blood, Conquering Passion, A Lady in White, The Vengeful Knight..._

"VAL!" Genevieve had pretty much reached the end of her rope. She looked into the rafters and shook her iPad at them, as if addressing the heavens. "Is this your idea of a joke? Bad enough this damned contract is in a foreign language, you've replaced my books with tawdry historical medievalish romances! Knights in shining armor? I've not read this kind of nonsense since I was a young and susceptible and mooning over Mickey… oh what was his name?!" She snarled, slamming her iPad on the bed and continued to growl. "I know what you're trying to do and I'm not buying it! This isn't going to do and you need to leave my books alone! This is so not funny!" 

“What is not funny?”

Genevieve spun in horror, to see That Man leaning against the door post, arms crossed and looking... well, looking like a satisfied cat. "What?"

“What is not funny?” he repeated. 

Genevieve’s jaw bounced up and down for some seconds before looking down and spying yet another dead mouse on the floor. “That!” She thrust her finger towards the little furry corpse. “That is simply not funny.” 

Pushing from the doorway, Guy pulled his gloves from his belt and pulled them on. He sauntered across the room, his spurs clanging softly across the wood, picked the thing up by the tail and proceeded to toss it out the window. He closed the shutters and latched them before turning to face her. "How tawdry is it?" 

Genevieve managed to get some sort of control over herself. “What are you doing back? I thought you left?”

“I was in such a hurry to leave your wretched company, I forgot my gloves. I retrieved them.” He began to pull at his earlobe. “Somehow, I do not believe you were talking about the dead mouse.” He raised his eyebrows in question. "Who is Val, what is she trying to do and how tawdry is it?" He stepped back into the doorway and pushed the door behind him to a close. Genevieve's jaw was still flapping uselessly, no sound coming out. He cupped the shell of his ear. "I cannot hear you, but perhaps, that is a blessing?" That caused her to growl, so he stepped back and put his hand on the door handle. "If it is your desire that I not go to Nottingham today, continue to dress that way.” His mouth lifted in a half-smirk when she self-consciously began to yank down on the shirt. “Enjoy your tawdry…not funny thing….” he left the sentence hanging, breaking out in a low chuckle as he went down the hallway. 

She listened silently as his bootfalls echoed down the steps and she supposed through the door. After a minute, she heard hoofbeats from several horses move away from the hall and from the hamlet. 

It took a moment for her heartbeat to slow to a normal pace. 

_How embarrassing!_

But not so embarrassed that she abandoned her precious reading. With a sigh, she crawled into the rumbled bed, pulled the quilts up and opened the electronic book the cursor was sitting on.   
_  
The Vengeful Knight._

How appropriate.

_**~~~…~~~** _

The party making their way to Nottingham Castle welcomed the cooling temperatures. Sometimes Guy thought the heat of summer was truly a prelude for hell. And at times when he openly welcomed death, he was not looking forward to that fiery place of torment he was convinced he would end up for eternity.

In the quietness of the ride and cool breeze, the knight’s thoughts wandered; wandered to Marian’s plea.

_‘Become a better man! Remember your creed, your oath! Protect the innocent, the defenseless, and the helpless poor. I am none of these. I do not need your protection! Let me go.’_

You cannot change the past, Guy. Simply become a better man.

But how to do that? He was the Right Hand of Vaisey and Prince John’s Hidden Fist. Neither position was one one was easily extradited from. In fact, the only way he saw of getting out of either was death. 

And death no longer held a flame for him. 

Yes, he could run, like a coward, but if he did, he would be running for the rest of his life, always looking over his shoulder.

_Remember your creed, your oath!_

Ah yes. My Oath. Now, how did that go? The Black Knight's conscience this morning was in a snarky mood.

Guy thought hard. Truthfully, when he took it, he thought little of it, simply repeated the words, as did most. The Knight’s Oath was simply an empty way to move forward and had ceased meaning anything to most who took it. His mind had been on regaining his lands; his title, and obtaining the power in which to keep it. That empty oath had been the first step.

_A knight is sworn…_

But what if the oath was not meant to be empty? What if at some point, it was supposed to mean something? What if it… It took a few minutes, but it finally came back to him.

_As a knight, I am sworn to valor. May my heart know only virtue and my blade defend the helpless. My might shall uphold the weak and my words speak only truth. May my wrath be righteous and undo the wicked._

Guy’s heart stopped in his chest. He had broken each and every oath he swore on his own sword and some dead Saint’s relics. Not forgotten. Broke. Irrevocably. Valor? What was the valor in being nothing more than the henchman of a power hungry madman? A heart that knows only virtue? He had taken the virtue of quite possibly one of the sweetest things to cross his path. Used her and then terrified her out of her mind. He squelched the weak with his boot; he lied to get his way…

His wrath… burned homes, slaughter…

His blade… Jesu! How many had he killed? How many innocents? He had tried to kill the king. Twice! If his father had a grave, he would be rolling in it!

_You cannot change the past. Become a better man._

But how? 

“M’lord?” Suddenly, he was yanked from his inner musings, realizing the guard rode next to him. “Sir Guy?”

“Wot?” He barked at Michael the Red, harsher than he intended.

“Lady Genevieve. She is recovered from her ordeal?” For the man’s bulk and size, he was an amazingly gentle giant, something their enemies would take advantage of, if they knew. 

“She has recovered somewhat.”

The man nodded. “Hood swears he did not rob her of her belongings.”

“Of course he would say that.” Guy was now focused on the surrounding woods. “The man is a thief, a liar, and an outlaw.” He took a breath. “Did Genevieve truly give Kate a black eye?”

The red-headed knight grinned as big as he could. “Sure and she did.” On occasion, the Irish lilt of the man’s grandmother came through, someone Michael privately adored. “Lady Genevieve has spunk. She fought right up until a-Dale took her trinket.” His face fell. “Then she fell to pieces.” 

“The cross has sentimental value to her,” Guy whispered. “It is her only link to her family.” He realized he was losing himself in his musings again. “Did Allan really stick his hand-”

“Aye. I was disgusted, as was the friar and Hood’s manservant. He put up quite the fuss.”

Guy snorted at the thought of Much’s outrage. Now if anyone in that wretched gang could be referred to as a ‘good’ person, it was the loyal Much. Robin didn’t deserve him, certainly did not deserve his loyalty.

The two men talked about things, how Hood had trapped and caught Michael and Genevieve, Guy listening carefully to Michael’s side of the story. It was almost identical to Genevieve’s, as he rightfully suspected. Despite what the people of town thought of Guy, his men knew him to be an honest and reliable taskmaster, earning their respect and their allegiance. He had been known to grieve senseless deaths, usually at the hand and machinations of the Sheriff and Sir Guy was known to quietly rearrange schedules so that the sheriff’s guard and not his did the dirty work.

“I suppose I’ll be doing latrine duty this week.” Michael was matter-of-fact and to the point. That he knew he had raised the ire of his superior was obvious and well deserved and he was willing to accept whatever punishment was handed down.

“Think I am that heartless?” Michael snickered at the Knight’s comment, making Guy smirk. “Ah. I am that cruel, I see. Portcullis today. Lady Genevieve is quite willful. She is a difficult handful.”

“But what a handful, eh?” Michael was smiling. 

“I will tell your wife, if you keep this up.” The half-smirk was back, as the man quickly crossed himself. “She is in the last stage of her confinement, yes?” Michael’s wife was ready to present him with their fourth child.

“Aye, and as cantankerous as a woman can be.” The red-headed guard grimaced. “I’ll take any excuse to get out of the house. Portcullis is not so bad.”

“God, man. Do not sound so jovial about it. ‘Tis supposed to be punishment.” Nottingham Castle came into view. The stench from the unwashed in the ditches was reaching further and further. Either that or Guy’s nose was becoming more and more sensitive. He supposed he could blame Genevieve for that, as well. 

With that, Sir Guy and his guards mounted the wooden causeway and entered the castle.

_**~~~…~~~** _

Vaisey was wearing the varnish from the floorboards as Guy entered the Great Hall. “Where have you been?”

Guy schooled his features, allowing the man’s words to flow through him. If he showed any emotion, it would feed the older man’s ego. He made his way to the sideboard, pouring himself ale. “I was not aware I was late or I needed to be any where in particular.” He lifted the pewter goblet to his mouth. “Is there anything in particular you wish for me to see to today or does something else plague you?”

Before he could take a sip, Vaisey snatched the chalice from him and downed the contents, splashing some of the liquid over his hand. “The Brotherhood wants their money! John wants his money! Everyone wants money! And they think I’m made of money!” Guy poured himself another cup and thanked his Maker that the stuff wasn’t poisoned. “I need a plan; something.”

“A faire, perhaps.”

Vaisey’s finger pointed at him, for once, not in ire. “He can be taught! A splendid idea! People love faires. They spend money. A Harvest Faire. That would be a good start. We should have contests… where we win, of course.”

Guy recalled a time when the Great Hall was transformed into a gambling casino and Marian dressed like a well-to-do harlot…

_Fetch!_  
  
“Archery, jousting.” Vaisey was continuing, unaware that his second-in-command’s mind was wandering. “When was the last time you wanted to knock someone off their horse?”

_Every time you mount up._

“John had a joust while I was in London,” Guy admitted quietly. “I was part of the lists.”

“Really?” Vaisey’s eyebrows rose to his receded hairline. “How did you fare?”

“Well enough. I was not embarrassed in the least.” 

Guy was not about to tell him he made it to the final round and won a very nice purse in the process. More gold hidden away for that day he might have … would have to leave. 

“Really and you didn’t tell me?” Guy shrugged. Vaisey tapped his lip thoughtfully. “No, you’ve always been a tight - lipped Gizzy. You keep your secrets close.” Vaisey nodded. “That’s why I like you.” He pounded the younger man on the arm; missing the sour look Guy shot his back, as the sheriff walked by. “We have had a lot of rain as of late; we should make a contingent plan.”

“My lord, what happened to the gaming tables?” 

Again, Vaisey’s eyebrow shot up. “I forgot about them!" He clapped Guy on the shoulder, the knight vowing to scrub it extra hard in the bath that evening. "If we spread them out, through out the castle… set this up for two weeks…” the man’s voice trailed off. “How is your leper?” 

Now Guy’s eyebrow went up.

“Still?” Vaisey made a face as if he smelled something wretched. “Rumor has it you are buying her clothes and giving her your last leper’s clothing.”

Guy knew this subject would come up and he was prepared. “She has nothing suitable and Marian’s old clothes did not fit. Yes, I have had a few things made and I have given her Marian’s white cloak.” He swirled the last of the wine in his goblet, staring into the depths before downing it. “Marian won’t miss it.” Inwardly, he flinched at the callous sound of his voice, praying Vaisey didn’t realize just how hard he was acting. 

“I hear she’s been running around Locksley in the most outlandish trousers.” Isabella sauntered into the Hall, causing both men to snarl. She was leaning on the upper railing before pushing off from the banister and made her way to the floor where she poured herself some ale as well from the carafe and turned to face them both. “And riding like a banshee all over Sherwood, frightening the outlaws! I have offered to go down and keep her company; perhaps teach her some manners, but my brother will have none of it.” She downed the drink and strolled over to the two men, privately amused when they both recoiled. She pressed herself against her brother, looking malevolently into his eyes. “I think he’s ashamed of her. She must be dreadful ugly.” She shoved her empty chalice into her brother's hand. "Or perhaps he prefers her wild and untamed." Cruel mischief shown in her eyes.

Vaisey recovered quickly. “This is a private conversation, missy.” He pointed to the door. “Out.” 

Isabella sneered before slowly walking back up the steps, and out the door. The echo of the door slamming rang through the chambers. 

“Remind me again why your sister is here in Nottingham Castle and not at Locksley with you, or with her husband?” 

“I am at Locksley and her husband is mean.” 

The Sheriff sank into his chair and rested his forehead on the back of his fingers. “Oh dear. How dreadful.”

“She thinks so.”

“We have a problem.” It was a statement and most likely the reason the sheriff’s mind was moving a league a minute. “Winchester is acting out.”

“I killed Winchester.”

Vaisey looked up, pointing at Guy. “Aye, you did. You killed Winchester Senior. Not Winchester Junior.”

“His heir is giving you difficulties?” 

“Yesssss.” Vaisey’s answer was long and drawn out. “Apparently, Daddy bragged of his plans to Sonny-boy and now Sonny-boy thinks he’s the able tactician his father thought he was.”

“His ‘thinking’ got him killed.” The Knight smiled mirthlessly. “He wants Sussex.” 

“I might have to make a short trip to remind the son that as I have his father’s signature on that damning piece of paper, it would be in his best interests to honor his father’s agreement. While he does not have his father’s negotiation skills, I would hate to see him go the way his father did.” The shorter man ‘tsked’ mournfully. “Highwaymen and robbers are soooo ruthless.”

_Several days without Vaisey in residence? The peasants would be overjoyed._ Sweet Mother of God, Guy himself would be overjoyed! There was a time Guy would have jumped at the chance to make his mark outside of Nottingham; offered to go to the man’s abode to ‘talk reason.’ However, he was loath to leave Genevieve unguarded and unprotected in the time he would be gone and he simply could not take the woman with him…

“And I suspect, you wish to go or go in my stead. A clue. No.” 

“My lord,” Guy turned his back so Vaisey wouldn’t see his relieved grin. “You read my mind.” He moved quickly, lest Vaisey sense his subterfuge. “When will you leave?” 

“In a few days, most likely.” Already, Vaisey was planning. “Right after John’s man comes. I do not wish a repeat of the last time I wasn’t here when Sir Jasper arrived.” 

No, most certainly not. John’s army was ready to lay waste to Nottingham. Vaisey’s return had come in the nick of time. 

“At least, we have a backup plan to save the populace.”

The Sheriff nodded. He disliked the masses in general, but they kept him in the lap of luxury and Guy was certainly living much better than he had been fifteen years ago, struggling to train as a knight and desperately needing a mentor. No one wanted to take on the under and barely trained teenager. Vaisey would never admit it, but the boy had turned out to be the hardest working and earnest squire he had ever encountered. Guy’s desire and ambition to regain what was taken from him and become someone regardless of what he had to do to accomplish it had worked strongly in both the young man and Vaisey’s favor. Guy’s willing ruthlessness to obtain that was only over-shadowed by Vaisey’s own greed. “I shouldn’t be gone long. A week at the most.” He waved his hand, dismissing the Black Knight. “I will leave Tuesday morning as soon as John’s emissary’s dust has settled from his leaving. In the meantime, we will think on this Faire. Good at the joust, you are?” Guy nodded. Even if he won, which he should, he wouldn’t get to keep much of the prize, if any. “We should have another archery contest. No silver arrow, this time.” Unbeknownst to the sheriff, the young teen who ‘won’ the previous time, used the money from selling his prize to feed his entire village for the winter. Guy had heard whispers of this and silently cheered, ignoring the fact that he suspected Hood had a lot to do with the lad’s ‘win’. 

As Guy mounted the stairs, Vaisey shot out, “If your leper friend is still here, bring her. I’m sure she would like time away from your gloomy abode.”

_I was afraid of that._

Guy spent hours on the training field with his men, as well as the castle guards. The castle guards were a sorry lot and he wanted to make sure none of his personal guard embarrassed him at this faire the sheriff was planning. 

He would have to practice his jousting skills, as well. That would be interesting. 

As the sun lowered to the west, he gathered his men and headed to retrieve Michael from the portcullis, when he heard his name being screamed over the din of the market, which was in the process of closing up for the evening. He turned to see Isandra heaving at a trot, her son lagging behind in their cart. 

She was carrying several packages. 

_Ah yes, Genevieve’s clothing. Pray they are an improvement from the peasant’s dress…_

The woman was red in the face. “Sir Guy!” She reached him and began to hand him the packages, as if he were a common servant. “Your lady’s things-”

“Yes, hand them to my man.” He pointed to Michael, who was mounting his horse. He looked at the numerous packages. “What is all this?” 

Michael made his way over upon hearing his name and wordlessly took the packages the dressmaker was now handing him. “Two more tunics, three kirtles, a nightdress, a shift, a corset, several pairs of…” she looked around although she didn’t appear to be embarrassed in the least, “ladies small clothes.” Her son finally caught up to her and handed over yet another package. “Ah, yes. And leather boots.”

“Boots? I said nothing about-”

“She NEEDS proper footwear.” Isandra began to nod to herself. “She needs more than that, but as you are being beggardly-”

“Isandra.” Guy cut her off curtly. “The sheriff and I were discussing throwing an Autumn Faire in two weeks. Do you wish to have a stall?” 

The woman blinked rapidly. “Why yes. Yes, of course.” 

“Then shut it.” The woman’s mouth snapped closed. Satisfied at the sudden quiet, he leaned over and whispered, “If Lady Genevieve is still residing with me, she will need additional clothes should she decide to attend the faire. Do you wish the business?” Isandra’s mouth opened, but he raised a finger. “Just nod.” She did so enthusiastically. “Good. I will be by tomorrow to settle the bill.” With that, he and his men exited Nottingham and headed home, Michael trying to juggle too many packages at once. 

It was a quiet ride home, Hood staying hidden and to himself for a change. Perhaps, the man was ashamed of his treatment of Genevieve…

And perhaps pigs would fly. 

He had a headache by the time he reached Locksley. Eleanor and Thornton greeted him at his door after he brushed down his horse. A bath was waiting for him and Eleanor took off up the stairs with all the packages, where apparently Lady Genevieve had stayed in her room the entire day.

After sinking into the hot tub, with a goblet of wine, Guy was serenaded by the sounds of That Woman and Her Servant squealing over each and every little item. Dear God in Heaven, what was it with women and clothing? 

And why was it the only soap in his house smell of lavender? Was there not any… manly smelling soap around? 

Another high-pitched squeal… 

Deciding he was as clean as he needed to be, Guy rose from the tub, dripping from everywhere. He stepped out, pulling the stopper and grabbed a large bath linen. He wiped down quickly, leaving his hair standing up at odd angles, and wrapped it around his waist, still soaking wet. As he threw the door open – by all that was holy, he was not going to tiptoe around his own home, afraid someone would see him in the all-together!! – another excited shriek pierced the air.

No longer willing to stay quiet, Guy stalked down the hall, where the bedroom door for Genevieve’s room stood partially open. With one hand still grasping a wad of bath linen at his back, he nudged it further open, taking in the amount of clothing, color strung and hung from everywhere. There were several ribbons on the floor, the furry beasts she called ‘kittens’ rolling in the midst of them. Neither were aware of his presence. 

“Look at this!” Genevieve had a pair of small clothes clutched in her fist. “There is enough room in these for two people, much less one!” 

“My lady!” Eleanor didn’t know if she should be aghast or laugh. “What you wear is scandalous!”

“That might be so, but-”

“GENEVIEVE!” Both woman and servant turned the man in the door, Eleanor turning red as a beet and covering her eyes, whirling so her back was to him. 

Genevieve’s eyes were bright. Too bright. She was obviously enjoying the physique that had presented itself to her. Guy decided if he sniffed her, she would smell of wine. “Yes, My lord?” She immediately broke down into unladylike snickering. 

“Would you like a repeat of last night?” 

Eleanor gasped. Genevieve, on the other hand… if anything else, her pupils dilated further. “It depends.” 

“On wot?”

“On whether or not you’re going to leave me in the same state as you did last night.”

_Huzzah!_

The knight saluted her with one finger from his forehead, his other hand clutching the bath cloth at his backside. “Get dressed. Stop the caterwauling.” He turned and stalked to his room, not realizing (and he would not have cared anyway) that his rear view was being admired and that he left a trail of water in his wake.

He did not hear the fit of inebriated snickering. “He’s gone so you can turn around now Eleanor. Shut the door.” Genevieve waited until the door was shut. “Nothing happened, by the way.”

“M’lady, it is not my place to say or judge,” Eleanor murmured. “What would you like to wear tonight for the evening meal?” 

Genevieve pointed to specific item. “That.”

**  
_~~~…~~~_ **

Guy was still down to the table before Genevieve. Wine was set before him immediately.

“My lord, Fiona is due back from her sister’s the day after the Sabbath. Would you have me dispense with Eleanor’s services?” 

Guy furrowed his brow. Although testy, he was in a generous mood. Besides, he had wanted to grant Genevieve a boon for standing up to Hood and giving a member of Hood’s gang a black eye. “No. Retain Eleanor while Lady Genevieve continues to reside here. She will keep the lady out of Fiona’s hair.” Fiona was a veritable dragon that even Thornton stepped lightly around. Her services were typically best kept to the kitchen and the thought of her serving a lady residing in the house who was not relative or wife made the lord of the manor’s head ache. And once Guy brought Genevieve to his bed… it would be a dance to see how long they could hide it.  
 _  
If he wanted to hide it. Do I care?_

Besides, Eleanor had proven herself worthy of staying on. She kept up with the upstairs much better and for the first time since taking over Locksley, he had fresh linens and a freshly aired room each day. 

He also suspected that keeping the bathing room clean and ready was time consuming as well.

“Thornton?” He lifted the chalice, savoring the aroma of the grape. “Lady Genevieve has been in the wine today, has she not?” 

“Yes, my lord.” 

“No more.”

“You said-”

“I know what I said.” He took a drink of the cool liquid, before lifting his eyes to his servant. “No more.”

_If she needs it, I will dispense it._

“Yes, m’lord.”

At that point, Genevieve made her grand entrance. 

Looking every bit a fairy queen.

_**~~~…~~~** _

_**I’m loving what you wanna wear** _

_**~~~…~~~** _

__  
**A/N - Every single one of those book titles that showed up on Genevieve's iPad truly exist and I'm ashamed to admit that each and every one of them is on my Kindle. The Vengeful Knight was actually quite good. He's vengeful, but he's hawt....what was his name again?....**  



	14. 13 - ... it does not...

_**Manna from Heaven** _

_**Chapter 13** _

_**…it does not…** _

Some women looked beautiful regardless of what they wore. Genevieve was one of those women.

The cream tunic was diaphanous, floating around her body as if weightless, with long, gossamer bell sleeves. The kirtle was green, short sleeved, to allow the tunic freedom. It did not meet in the middle, green ribbons criss-crossing in the front, allowing the almost white bodice to peek through. The kirtle was hooded, but lay back and was trimmed in a gold thread. 

Isabella would have hated the simplicity of the ensemble, because she would not glow in it as Genevieve did. 

Guy’s mouth lifted in a half-smirk. He openly and sensuously perused her form. “Nice. Hungry?” He quirked an eyebrow and pulled out her chair.

Genevieve was feeling little pain. She had spent the day accomplishing nothing. The wine carafe in her room stayed full and she had read two books that she normally would not have read under normal conditions. Needless to say, she had a hankering for broody knights, who had been done dirty, with revenge on their minds at this time and deep down she knew she could most likely blame her shifty office manager who somehow was managing to walk time with her. “I feel like I’m dining with the Big Bad Wolf,” she remarked coyly. She sat in her chair and allowed Guy to maneuver her to the table. “Thank you.”

Guy leaned over, resting his hand on her shoulder, uncaring if anyone overheard or not. “You are. I am big, I am very bad and the wolf is my crest.”

Although no longer in the throes of backache mayhem and the effects of the wine earlier was now wearing off, Genevieve was feeling rather saucy. “You are tall and I would think you are more naughty than bad.” She rested her hand over his, covering his signet ring. “And considering the wolf on your ring and the emblem found about your home, I suspected that you are.”

For a moment, he… they lingered in that position, before Guy pushed himself from her chair and slid into his. Somewhere in the kitchen, Eleanor squealed in glee, Thornton obviously having told her that her services would be kept on. For the first time since she was hired, she looked Guy in the eye when she served him and smiled.

For some odd reason, it terrified the knight. Wasn't the little servant girl supposed to be frightened of him, as she should?

_When women smile, they want something._

"No, they don't." Genevieve was leaning over towards him. "Sometimes, we smile to show our appreciation, our gratefulness."

Guy pretended to eyeball his roast chicken. "I do not recall saying anything."

"No, but I could read it in your face." Genevieve returned to her own dinner, finally eating heartily, something she had not done since the morning before. "Believe me, she is more petrified of you, than you could ever be of her," she mumbled.

"Ah, are you quite certain you are not a witch? Reading the thoughts of others is a sign of unnatural abilities." Guy was continuing to work on his plate.

"I am not and you know it."

Guy leered at her before returning to his meal. 

As he had the night previous, Guy waited until the house was quiet, the servants gone before venturing to Genevieve's room with the bottle of oil, praying the kittens were asleep and their mother had left no dead beasties in the floor.

He attempted to have a 'chat' with his other head about keeping it to himself and not rearing up and making a fool out of the knight, but Guy decided he was fighting a losing battle. Instead, he quietly took matters into his own hands attempting again to put out the fire in the fireplace, while Genevieve was bathing, hoping that he would be unable to recover too quickly.

That wish was dashed the moment he stepped into her room.

She was again clothed in his old clothes, the nightrail that had been hanging over a chair that he remembered seeing was no where in sight. "The nightdress is stiff and is being washed. Besides, it's white and these are more comfortable," seeing the question in his expression. She held out her wrists, ties dangling. "Tie me up?" 

Guy stared at her for what seemed to the longest time. The longer he glared, the brighter she smiled. "Someday..."

She thrust her arms again. "Please?" 

_Sigh._

He took her right hand and proceeded to the do the ties on the shirt. "Someday, m'lady," he somehow managed to continue the thought, "I will take you up on your delightful offer in a way you do not expect."

For once, she smirked. "Perhaps, I have an idea and I'm looking forward to it." The reply was so soft, he almost thought he imagined it.

And so, for the second time in 24 hours, Guy found himself settled on the backs of Genevieve’s thighs, giving her a backrub he was no longer sure she really needed this evening. Not that he was complaining. 

Much.

Truth be told, Guy felt as if she were enjoying it rather enthusiastically. 

"I do not believe your back is paining you this eve."

"To the best of my recollection, you offered when you stood in my doorway, wrapped in nary but a bath linen and thoroughly scandalized my... my... what do I call her?" 

"Your personal maid."

"Oh." Considering the passion Guy apparently had giving her a massage, it occurred to Genevieve to tell him if he wanted in her pants, he'd keep doing what he was doing, but she thought she should hold her tongue. Considering the modesty of Eleanor and the things Sir Guy had said in anger to her, she had the feeling that men of this time rather liked their women unschooled and unable to compare one man to others, not to mention, there seemed to be a strict social and moral conduct, enforced by this time period's belief system. All she had to go by were the romance novels in which the so-called wise older woman claimed sex was a chore to put up with. Of course the heroine had fantastic swing from the chandelier monkey sex with her hunky knight/cowboy/fireman/duke/earl/caveman anyhoo, damn the old bats anyway! 

Or perhaps a woman's virginity was all she had that she could personally barter; the price of it high. Once gone...

On the other hand, if women really thought that, small wonder their men had more mistresses than horses. Or hawks. Or dogs. 

She realized he had stopped rubbing her back, waiting for an answer.

"This feels very nice. Thank you." She snuggled her head into the pillow. "I'll repay the favor some time."

Again, she felt him cover her, heard him whisper into her ear. "Yes. You will." 

The thought of how he would want her to repay the favor sent chills up her spine, which were quickly followed by his fingers. 

"Might I ask you a question?" 

It came from the blue. While relaxed, Genevieve was nowhere near the level of nirvana as she had been the night before, so in a sense, the question put her on her guard. Remembering his response from the previous evening, she answered the same way. "You may. That does not mean I will answer." 

She felt, rather than heard him snort. "You exhibit certain... symptoms... on the outset of your... menses." It was quiet while he ministered to her back. "The backaches, short-temperedness... poor appetite..." his voice trailed off, the man seemingly engrossed in her skin. 

"And your point?" Her voice was soft.

"Nightmares? Bad dreams? This is part of it?" 

Genevieve stopped breathing. 

His fingers became firmer, more insistent. "You _will_ answer me." 

"No." 

"No, you do not or no, you will not answer me?"

"No, I do not."

For a moment, the massage came to a halt. Guy lifted his hands, the coolness of the air between them making Genevieve's skin tingle.

"Odd." More oil was trickled into the small of her back, the scent of woods and sandalwood rising in the air. He again lulled her into a strange state of paradise, where the only sound was the crackling of the fireplace and the creaking of the bed ropes. 

 

He murmured softly. 

"What was that?" Genevieve was in a state of sheer bliss. 

"I said, how long will you tease me, m'lady?" 

"Me? Tease?" The quiet sentiment made Genevieve snort. " I'm not the one sitting on your butt, squirming with a hard on and plying naked skin with oil." 

"True," he agreed quietly. "However I am the one attempting to alleviate a backache I believe you no longer have." 

_True that._

"You know," she tried to reroute the man, "the backache is the worst. Once it abates, the other three days are a breeze." 

Guy was now grinning in a most evil manner. "Three more days is all?" 

Genevieve was starting to yawn. "That is another side effect from the implant. More pain, fewer days. Four days now usually, rather than six." She exhaled. "I guess my body has to cram those missed days into it." 

Guy was not paying attention. Instead, he was counting days in his head. 

"Guy?" 

"Hmmm?" Shaking off his lusty thoughts, he focused again on the back presented to him. 

"My British history is non-existent. I know your... Black Brotherhood wants to put John on the throne. But what does he think of that? Does he want to be king?" 

Again, the room fell into an almost silence, before he answered. "John expected to be crowned king and might have, if it were not for the scheming and plotting of his own mother."

 

"Does he know a group of the king's nobles are disgruntled and trying to put him on the throne? What do they expect to gain if he does become king?" The few things Genevieve could remember from her history classes did not paint John in a very good light. Of course and then there was that movie... "Does he know about the group you are involved in?" 

Genevieve was not an ignorant woman and Guy was realizing this more and more. He had a feeling she had spent the day examining and putting puzzle pieces together, which she had been and coming up with some terrible but astute conclusions. Guy was born tight-lipped, keeping his thoughts to himself most times. Only once or twice had he ever found someone who he could confide in and truth was, it had been years since he spoke openly to anyone about the things he pondered and thought of. 

But Genevieve had an open and curious mind, quick to grasp concepts, and swift to come to conclusions and decisions. On occasion, a niggly voice in the back of his head claimed him she was Vaisey's spy, but he knew better. He could tell when Vaisey was planning, plotting; the man had become rather predictable. As time went on, the more the knight was convinced that the woman between his legs was exactly who she said she was. 

_Not of this time._

"Who knows Prince John's mind? He keeps his own counsel. However, Vaisey thinks to rule England, to use John as a puppet. He thinks he is more intelligent than the prince Regent. But I tell you," his voice now dropped to a low whisper. "I have spent some months with John and John knows the Sheriff's plans. He will rule this land without anyone's aid and remove anyone who stands in his way." Guy put his head down, concentrating on things besides Genevieve's back. "And I do not intend to stand in the prince's way. If he tries, Vaisey will hang and I will snatch what was his and garner more." 

Genevieve looked over her shoulder, seeing the man in a new light. Perhaps, it was not so new after all. "It's all dog eat dog. All about power." 

Guy was not aware she was watching him, watching the shadows flicker across his face. "No, not power. Ambition. At first, I just wanted what was mine back. I just wanted enough power to keep it so no one would take it from me or mine ever again."

"And now?" 

"And now, I know better. There will always be someone stronger, more powerful, to take what belongs to those who are not as strong." For a moment, Winchester's face flickered before him, the man leading Marian in manacles to his coach, thinking he had won her. Guy had killed the man and felt no remorse whatsoever. How easily that life had been snuffed, taken. All of Winchester's power and money had not kept him safe. Now he looked and met her eyes boldly, the fire of his temper barely held in check. "I will never be weak again." 

Genevieve shifted, turned beneath him, his hands now resting on the softness of her stomach. It took every ounce of his self-control to not reach up and cup her breasts. "There is only one way for John to become king, isn't there?" 

The fire was low and the room was dark, Guy's eyes glittering like possessed obsidian. "Aye." 

"That's why you've chosen to run if Richard returns, isn't it? It isn't because of who you've aligned yourself with. There's more, isn't there?" 

He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing painfully. _She knew too much. Much too much._ "Aye." 

"Something unforgivable."

"Genevieve-"

"Have you tried-"

_God woman! Shut it!_

"He still walks the earth, does he not?" She was treading on thin ice, moving too close, discussing things that could endanger her, kill her.

"Your idea or someone over you?" 

"The more you speak, the more peril you are in, Genevieve." It was a hissed whisper. 

Without taking her eyes from him, she gently grasped his wrists, lifting his hands and placed them at her throat, putting herself completely at his mercy. With a rush, Guy realized just how fragile she was; how much she...

_...trusted him..._

"Your idea or someone over you?" He felt the sound vibrating beneath his thumbs.

His fingers stroked her neck, teasing the pulsating throb of life there. "Has it not dawned on you? Do you not realize? I am simply a lackey. Someone's evil henchman." His eyes never left hers, glittering orbs in the dark. "I do someone's bidding for them."

Genevieve continued to stare into his eyes, his soul, Guy's hands still at her throat. "How old were you when Vaisey plucked you from whatever hell you were in? How beholden are you to him?" 

Guy couldn't take much more. He pulled his hands from her throat and threw himself beside her, pulling her into his arms, as if to cuddle her. "I was nineteen. Please shut it," he beseeched, pressing her face to his chest. 

This... _this_... his arms was such a wonderful, protective place. Genevieve snuggled in, determined to keep him at her side this night. She took in his smell, lavender still, but leather and earth as well. "Not evil. Simply beholden."

Guy tightened his grip on her and kissed the top of her head, taking in her scent. "How do you mean, 'beholden'?" 

She was quiet for a moment, tangling her fingers in his shirt, so similar to the one she wore. "It means you feel or he has convinced you, you owe him. Your allegiance, your loyalty-" With this, his heart clutched in fear with how close to the truth she was. "-your life. It means you're in between a rock and a hard place and you don't think you can tell him no." Again, the room turned silent as the two took refuge in each other's arms. As he began to relax, she whispered, low but still enough for him to hear. "Control your destiny, Guy. No one has the right to take that from you. No one has the right to judge you. Be your own man." Within minutes, her breath deepened and evened out, her sleep coming quickly. 

So unwilling to disturb her and in some ways, envious of her unfettered slumber, Guy pulled the covers up over them and spent too long, staring at the canopy over the too narrow bed, churning in his own thoughts, before falling into a shallow, restless sleep.

_**~~~...~~~** _

In the dark, the deep of the night, Guy fitfully tried to roll over, his arm caught under Genevieve...

_Robin's fist crashed into Guy's jaw. "Thief!"_

_"No more than you!" Guy recovered quickly, an uppercut landing squarely at Hood's chin. "All I wanted was what belonged to me, what you stole!" Again, he struck the smaller man._

_Swords materialized in both of their hands. Soon, the sound of metal striking each other rang through the forest._

_"Murderer!"_

_Guy wasn't winded. He pushed the outlaw backwards towards a tightly planted group of trees. "You have killed none? No Saracens while in the Holy Land?" He slashed at the man, drawing first blood. "You lie if you deny it!"_

_Hood lashed back in fury. "You killed Marian!"_

_For a moment, the knight froze, before shaking it off. "Is that the best you have got?"_

_Hood stepped backwards, shock on his face. "Wot? You feel no remorse? No regret?"_

_The Black Knight sneered. "You do not know what I feel!"_

_The man attacked the knight in a fury. "You murdering whoreson-"_  
  
 _The knight raised his sword to defend himself, casting off the angry blows. "Old news."_

_"Bastard!"_

_"My parents were married. Were yours?"_

_The outlaw stopped, his breathing heavy. He bent over, hands to his knees. "Do you have no sense of decency? Will you not beg for forgiveness?"_

_At the word 'forgiveness', something snapped in the tall knight. With several controlled and well-practiced moves, he pressed the obnoxious boy from his childhood back into a tree. "From you? Not hardly!" He disarmed the man and pulled a knife from his belt, his broadsword pinning him to the tree and his knife now against his throat. "Only the king or God has the right to forgive me!" He leaned forward, almost nose to nose with the outlaw. "Last I looked, you were not Richard! Nor are you God!" The customary Gisborne sneer asserted itself. "I will not ask it from you! You do not have the right!"_

_He thrust-_

_**~~~...~~~** _

Guy woke with a start, gasping for breath, clinging to the edge of the narrow bed.

_You do not have that right, no one has the right, I have to live with this…_

The weight and oddly, the comfort of a warm body snuggled and wrapped around his, brought him quickly to his senses.

"WhazisizokaybetterdammitVal..." Genevieve nestled in closer, her ankles between his and her nose in his side. Her hand clutched his shirt. "GodosleepGuy."

_Go do sleep Guy._

He hung on to the woman as he eased back more on the bed. Once somewhat comfortably situated and certain she had returned to a deeper sleep, he nuzzled her hair, gloried in the scent, the softness of it. Not realizing what he was doing, he reached up and stroked the mahogany locks, before wrapping one around his index finger. The urge to protect her, to destroy whoever haunted her sleep, her life was over-whelming, more consuming than his desire for Marian. Eventually, his own breathing evened out as he himself slid into a deep, finally dreamless sleep.

_**~~~...~~~** _

Genevieve woke up refreshed, secure, alone in her bed...

_Alone?_

She jerked up, looking around. The entire bed was mussed, a second dent in the pillow next, which was still warm from the body that slept next to her that evening. Replaying the previous night, she concluded that not only had Guy spent the entire night in the bed with her, he didn't touch her sexually, but it was also the best night's rest she had had in ages. Not only since 'coming' here, but for months.

_She didn't sleep this well the few times Lamar deigned to spend the night with her!_

Suddenly, the bed was cold and staying in it alone was disheartening. Both feet hit the floor with a thud, causing the kittens to startle and mew. 

"You alright?" 

Genevieve's head jerked up to see Guy standing outside her doorway clad only in leggings, his hair standing up on ends. There was a cloth draped over his shoulder, his face was wet, and he appeared to have a straight razor in his hand.

For some odd reason, Genevieve self-consciously wiped her hands on her posterior. "I'm fine."

"The staff has arrived." He pointed to the bed. "They do not need to know..."

"Oh no!" she quickly agreed. "None of their business." She was now nodding like a bobble headed doll. "Probably would shock poor Eleanor to run away and never return." With this, she dug her toe in the rug. "I forgot. Thank you for keeping her. She's a real sweetie."

Guy just stared.

"Uhm... I need to... you know... take care of things. Girly stuff." She jutted her chin towards the chamber pot.

Guy nodded his head, before reaching for the door and shutting it.

He could hear her exhalation of breath from the other side.

_**~~~...~~~  
** _

Genevieve and Guy were not aware of it, but the change of mood and the subtle shift in their relationship affected the entire household. It breathed, it relaxed. No one said anything when their chairs at the table were moved directly next to each other, touching, nor was it mentioned that the two spent their meals with their heads so close together whispering, that it gave a sense of intimacy between the two.

Over the weekend, Genevieve discovered that if she spent more than twenty minutes attempting to work on her contract, she developed a splitting headache. The only thing she was able to discern in the two day period was whatever commitments she had building-wise and artistically was her responsibility out of her pocket, from the proceeds of the sale. 

_Will there be anything left?_

This 'sale' was looking more and more like a lemon and Genevieve was having second thoughts. 

"You mean to tell me that you have just now decided this might not be a wise move?" Guy was stretched out on her bed, taking up all of it, thank you very much, with the notepad in one hand and the iPad in the other, looking back and forth at both. He had taken to spending much time sprawled on her bed, once his servants was gone and hinting loudly that _*his*_ bed was oh so much bigger and more comfortable, not to mention the room was warmer...

Yeah, the man was a veritable heating pad. 

And she had slept better and he himself looked rested after that night he spent with her - doing absolutely nothing what the hell is up and wrong with that?...

He didn't look so haunted and fatigued. 

"I was hoping we could discuss the stock issue, but if they are going to demand I not work for thirty years, not allow me to teach my craft or keep up with the latest advancements and turn over all of my stock... and this?" Genevieve gestured to the things Guy was holding. "Then no. This isn't looking very good at all and I'm rather reluctant to go through with the deal." 

Guy set the notepad and iPad down on the table next to the bed and plucked Maleficent from his stomach, much to her dismay. "If you are so opposed to go through that, perhaps you would prefer to lie next to me and explain to me how your time manages to fly in the air, from place to place, and how you have placed a man on the moon." 

"I think you simply want me in a better position to kiss me." 

Guy shrugged and looked up at her. "These lips will not kiss themselves." He moved over to give her room as she crawled on the bed and molded herself next to him. "If we... you know..."

"No, I do not know." 

Her sigh was comical. "If I start sleeping with you in your bed, will you make me get up before the crack of dawn to come in here?"

"More than likely." Again, a long, theatrical sigh from her. "I suppose in your time, people openly fornicate without the benefit of clergy."

"Pretty much. We call it living together, living in sin, trying it on for size, a dry run before the big day. Cohabitating."

"And this is allowed? This...cohabitating." On one hand, the man was disgusted. On the other, how liberating.

"The church is not a political force, in my time," she admitted quietly. "Many do it for financial reasons. It's cheaper. I know many of the widowed elderly do not marry because it will negatively affect their retirements, their pensions. Many widows would lose their deceased husband's retirement if they remarry, so they simply live with their new lover." She smiled to herself. "I've heard rumors of some who have a hard time with it, going through the ceremony at church, getting the Lord's Blessing, but not getting a government marriage license, therefore not making it legal."

"So the government is in charge of marriage and not the church?" Genevieve was being pulled in closer, tighter to him, his lips in her hair. "And do you believe in or practice in this cohabitating?"

Genevieve shook her head, focusing on his shirt. "No. I mean, if others do that, that's fine. I don't care one way or the other. But for me? If I'm living with someone, we have a set date at the chapel."

"Vows are still sacred?" His mouth moved from her hair to her ear, making it difficult for her to speak, much less think.

"Vows have always been sacred. Some just don't take them as seriously as they should." She managed to get the statement out as he reached her mouth.

For some minutes, he appeased her lips, or perhaps she appeased his. Just as she began to breathe heavy and was flushed, he raised his head. "Now tell me. How does one fly? And what is 'dropping a bomb'? " 

She growled while banging her head on his chest.

_**~~~...~~~** _

In order to keep the general populace calm, cool, and preferably not talking about her, Genevieve attended Sunday morning mass wearing the least colorful, most somber outfit Isandra had made for her; the grey tunic that Guy thought looked so beggarly with the black kirtle. She sat in the back, so it would be easier to follow the congregation up and down and kneel and genuflect. At least in the back, no one would notice that she didn't know how to genuflect.

The priest was NOT the same one as who had listened to her and counseled her several days before. Truth was, her mind wandered off as the priest was speaking in Latin. 

So, she prayed. Genevieve always prayed, always in her head. She prayed for understanding for this contract. She prayed - finally - for a clear head and making the right decision about the sale. She prayed about Sir Guy - if this was hell or a dream, it certainly wasn't funny and if she did... well... you know... _did that_... and this wasn't hell and she went back, what would happen? 

She prayed that no one would sell her a gun so she wouldn't be tempted to kill Lamar upon her return. 

But after some thought, she prayed for more time with Sir Sex-Walking. Had it only been a week that she arrived? 

And she prayed that he would live up to the hype she created in her head. 

She returned to Locksley Hall, alone, to the quiet. Guy was in Nottingham and she could have sworn she heard the house creak. Again, she attempted to work on the contract, only for her eyes to burn within ten minutes. She jumped at every sound. 

She ended up reading 'A Knight's Temptation.' 

And wondered if Her Knight would think she was a hussy if she handcuffed herself naked to his bed in an attempt to seduce him. He was becoming quite the... chivalrous knight, all of a sudden.

Speaking of, where were her handcuffs? That Man still hadn't returned them! Maybe he wasn't so chivalrous after all.

When Guy arrived later that afternoon, he was surprised to find her antsy, out of sorts; she made him promise never to leave her alone again; to make sure someone - Joffrey, Michael, Thornton, anyone - was in the hall with her. He found her sassiness amusing. That infuriated her. What if Hood showed up?

_Give him a black eye, like you gave Kate._

But Sir Guy saw that she was disturbed being left alone. Perhaps, rather than attend Mass at Nottingham, he could have gone with her, here in Locksley. 

_Some day Guy. You will have to get over the fact the last time you were in that chapel, you did not get married._

Then again, perhaps not. Next Sunday, he would stay put here at Locksley. It wasn't like he attended Mass regularly as of late.

Fiona returned to Locksley on Monday. She was courteous, if slightly cool when she met Genevieve, but as the day wore on, she warmed up to the young woman after seeing how she and the lord of manor got along at breakfast. Being gone a week, she could see the change in Sir Guy; relaxed, not so pale or exhausted. She was observant, watched how their hands touched, their heads tipped together when they whispered, Sir Guy leaving a guard just for her. 

"Her speech and manner of dress is strange." She stood in the kitchen in front of a pail of water, washing dishware.

"You get used to it, Fiona." Thornton was drying and putting them on the shelf. ""She stands up to him. They," with this he smiled, "get along."

Fiona looked around to ensure they were not being eavesdropped on. "If he is has not lain with her yet, he will be before the week is over!" 

"We hope so."

"THORNTON!" She dropped the pewter goblet back in the water, causing it to splash. 

"Fiona," the steward began patiently. "She rouses his ire, she argues with him, they verbally fence with each other, but she never once has insulted him or he, her. He almost smiles." 

This shocked the woman. "I have been the cook and housekeeper here since Lord Robin and I have never seen Sir Guy do more than smirk!"

"He dances attendance on her, much like he did Lady Marian. Only Lady Genevieve appreciates it and is kindly to him. If she makes him happy, I pray she never finds out where she came from and stays." He smiled to himself. "I believe they like each other. Perhaps, it will grow into more."

"What does Lord Robin have to say about this?" Fiona hissed.

Thornton sighed heavily. "Lord Robin tried to rob her and was only stopped by Friar Tuck. She had nothing save the clothes she wore and a crucifix and Lord Robin tried to rob her!" Thornton shook his head. "I understand his grief, but he was not and is not thinking straight." They finished the dishes before Thornton whispered, "She took Lady Marian's horse out for a ride on Thursday."

"Sir Guy allowed it?" 

"Oh no." Thornton was smiling at the memory. "She had that horse saddled and was trotting out with Michael the Red chasing after her, terrified he would be flogged. Sir Guy caught them, but when he and Lady Genevieve returned alone, he made her promise she would only ride with him afterwards." 

"Still, it is sinful and a disgrace-"

Thornton gently grabbed her wrist. "Remember, Fiona. He is lord of this manor, regardless of what we feel in our heart or want to believe. He will do as he will and we can accept it and hold our tongues or lose our tongues. Eleanor did a fine job filling doing your chores this past week. Remember, we are all replaceable." 

And with that, the man dried his hands and went to the study to record the week's receipts and make a list of the hall's needs.

_**~~~…~~~** _

Monday's sunset was bright and the air crisp, but during the night, thunder rolled in and the sun rose behind clouds and stormy weather. So wanting to leave before the weather worsened, the sheriff met Sir Jasper in the courtyard, not allowing him to even as much as dismount. Vaisey's horse was already saddled in the castle barn, his saddlebags firmly attached behind before John's man was under the portcullis and on his way.

"How long will you be gone?" Guy followed Vaisey out into the bailey, guards mounted, lined up. He knew how long Vaisey would be gone, but he wanted to hear the man say it again. If it made Vaisey think less of the knight, so be it. It suited Guy's desires and need for the man to not think he would or could betray him, when needed. _'Vaisey thinks I am weak and have not a brain in my head. Let him think that.'_

It was a gray day, misty. It had rained all night the night before and Vaisey was relieved Sir Jasper showed up in the nasty elements, therefore not making him put off his trip to Winchester's. Guy was surprised the sheriff was leaving for Earl's, regardless. There was not much of a break and it was not showing signs of dissipating any time soon. As the sheriff approached his own horse, the lone guardsman not in the saddle, got down on all fours, creating a step up for the man. For not the first time, Guy was grateful that particular job was no longer his and hadn't been for years and years. For some odd reason, Vaisey considered a 'hand up' as too feminine for his tastes and refused such aid, preferring to humiliate an underling. 

Vaisey was pulling on his riding gloves, leaving the guard in the mud. "Several days. Most likely, I will be gone a week. I should be back well in time before Sir Jasper arrives, however if I am not, send a rescue party for me and make sure the peasants are safe in the woods. Hood might be a pain in my posterior, but he will protect the people." He leaned closer, forcing the knight to stoop down somewhat. "You know where the secret entrance is, in and out, correct?" Guy nodded. Good God, he had overseen the work personally. "Good. Get as many of the townspeople out as possible. I don't mind rebuilding if the place is razed, but stocking the castle with new tax paying citizens and servants will be difficult. They'll get tired of living in the forest after a while. People like their creature comforts." He patted the much taller man on the shoulder as if he were a child, something that infuriated Guy. "Winchester's heir needs to be brought to heel again. I would send you, but I think a more delicate hand is necessary." Guy forced his face to remain impassive, keeping his scowl to himself. Vaisey's 'delicate hand' was nothing more than a ruse. The man was heavy handed and cruel. "His last missive was positively surly, therefore it is time to remind him where he stands. With both of us gone, Hood will take over and we cannot have that, can we? A clue. No." He turned and mounted up. Picking up the reins, he leaned over. "Besides, we both know you are enjoying your sport with your leper friend and I fear a separation this soon in your honeymoon stage would make you boorish company. Enjoy it while you can."

"I suppose you would have me wait judgments and punishments?" 

"Only the most heinous." Vaisey did enjoy a good hanging or beheading. The man was positively psychotic with joy when it came to watching people suffer or die. For not the first time since her death, Guy pondered on Marian's thoughts questioning the man's sanity. "Otherwise, no. However, of course, if it is a grievance against you, yours, or your lands, you may deal as you see fit. Chop off a few hands, hang a few people. That should keep everyone in line. Taxes are current, but if anyone gives you a hard time, raise them. Oh, and plan our Faire. Announce it. Hire musicians, street performers. Bring the gaming tables from the cellars and dust them off. Prepare the jousting arena." With that, he called out to his guards, who surrounded him and left. As the man's entourage cleared the portcullis and cantered off down the road, one could sense, if not hear, a collective sigh of relief from the castle itself. Turning his back to the departing sheriff, Guy made his way indoors. There were several things that needed tended to. As he entered the hall, his sister sidled up next to him.

"Sheriff's gone, Guy will play." She walked her fingers up his chest, until he grabbed them and roughly shoved them to the side.  
"Bugger off. I have things to tend to." With a jerk of his head, he motioned to one of his guards.

"Still, I imagine you will be so busy, you'll be sending a messenger to retrieve the whore." Again, Isabella was dancing around, moving quickly to evade the guard. "I hear she's got you jerking on a string. One would think-"

In a blink of an eye, Guy moved, pinning the woman against a wall. Servants in the hall made quick 'U' turns and avoided the feuding siblings with everything they could. "How soon, Isabella," he hissed in her ear, 'how soon did you ignore your sacred vows and allow another to stick his tongue down your throat?" His sister turned white. "Have you allowed Hood liberties?" His hand around her throat, if he didn't kill her, she would surely bruise by the morrow. "She could teach you lessons on gentility and manners. She is more of a lady than you will ever be!" With that, he flung the woman from him. “The Sheriff is planning a faire. Make yourself available to Vaisey’s steward and chatelaine about the setting up of the Great Hall. Earn your keep!” With that parting shot, he stalked off, leaving heated fury in his wake. 

As she straightened her gown, she felt a not so gentle hand grasp her arm. She allowed the guard to remove her from the corridor and escort her to her room. During the short journey, she smirked to herself, so similar to her brother's. _Well, I wondered how close the two of you are. Now I know. And if you are questioning my nobility, it clearly means she is not what you say she is._

_**~~~...~~~** _

By afternoon, it was pouring rain. Guy stood in the window of his quarters, watching, praying for a break in the weather to return home. It had been four days. For three nights, he lay by her side in the dark, in a too narrow bed, teasing her, teasing himself. Yes, the conversation had been enlightening, stimulating. She refused to speak of England's history, swore it was not her forte, whatever 'her forte' meant, but he had a feeling she knew more than she pretended she didn't and chose to leave him in the dark. He wondered why. But what he learned about her time...what he learned about her.

He wanted her. And not for just physical release. He... _wanted_... her. He did not want her to leave. For the first time in ages, he could breathe, he looked forward to something that Vaisey had not dabbled his fingers in. Marian said she saw good in him; Genevieve made him feel there was good in him, that he could accomplish anything. It was if she was drawing it out and polishing it, polishing him like a rare gem. Genevieve tried to understand him, things, in ways Marian did not. He often thought of leaving, fleeing, starting again, but now, he could not imagine him doing that without her at his side.

She had been there in his home a little over a week. What magic had she used to ensnare him, bewitch him? 

He decided that he did not care.

As the day wore on and the sun set, the weather worsened. With great reluctance, Sir Guy decided to spend the night at Nottingham. The minute the weather broke tomorrow, he would head home. Joffrey was there; he could send a messenger, and under normal conditions would. But if he was going to send a man out in this weather, he might as well go himself. He didn't wish an ague or consumption on anyone. She would understand.

He wished his body understood.

_**~~~...~~~** _

"Lady Genevieve; 'e won't be comin' home in this sort o' weather. Come an' eat. Fioner outdone 'erself."

She stood by the main hall door, watching the rain fall. "I know." She felt a kind hand at her arm. 

"Sir Guy would be displeased if he thought we allowed you to waste away." With a tender force, Thornton pulled her from the doorway and shut them. "We will all sit at the table, so you won't be alone. Joffrey will be here tonight and Eleanor has offered to stay as well, if you like." 

"Joffrey will be fine." Genevieve allowed herself to be herded to the table, where yes, Eleanor was now laying out four extra places for her and the servants. Fiona had left the minute she had finished cooking, in attempt to beat the rain. She allowed them to lift her spirits for the meal, but when it was finished, the places cleared and it was simply her and Joffrey, the house grew quiet, too quiet. Bored out of her skull, she brought down her iPad, notebook and a pencil and damning the headache, if it decided to come, she set to work at the dining room table, on the next part of the contract.

_**~~~…~~~** _

For not the first time that evening, Guy regretted his decision to stay in Nottingham for the night. The fine rainy mist turned into a drizzle, and as the temperatures dropped, he stood in front of the open window. With his arms crossed defiantly across his chest, he decided that the rashness of his resolution to stay put for the evening, was the fault of the little she-demon in Locksley. No doubt, it would be pouring rain on the morrow and he would either ride home in it or decide to continue his stay; something which was not tolerable in the least. Vaisey tested his temper sorely anymore and Isabella was a bitch.

There was a scratching at the door.

The knight scowled. It was late. If the sheriff had been in residence and wanted his services, they would come pounding, yelling. Isabella… well, Isabella could hang. “Who is it?” He made sure his voice did not sound the least bit welcoming. 

“It’s Felicity. One of the maids.”

A maid? This late? What the- 

Guy threw the door open. “I have no need for a maid at this late hour.”

The girl – surely she was no more than a girl – bowed her head, before looking nervously up and down the hall. “Please, Sir Guy…” Her voice trailed off and she began to squirm anxiously. “May I speak to you? Privately?” 

With a dismissive nod, he opened the door wider, beckoning her in. “What?” 

A blush crept up her face and across her neck. “I came to… inquire… if you… wouldlikesomecompanytonight?” The last five words came out in a rush, flying from the girl’s lips.

Guy wasn’t sure he heard her right. “Wot?” 

She swallowed hard, measuring her words carefully. “I said I came to inquire if you would like some company tonight.” Again, she began to fidget with her sash. “I came to offer my services.” The last was a whisper.

With this, the knight thought for a moment. It had been a while since a woman had shared his bed, some months now since Eadyth, but this was no woman. He reached out and took her by the chin, lifting it, to look at her closely. As he stepped closer, he could smell sweat, the kitchen on her. She needed a bath and needed one badly. Living with Genevieve spoiled him to the smell of a fresher body. “You offer to service me?” Eyes shut tight, she nodded once. A single tear crept from the side. “How old are you?” 

“Almost fourteen, m’lord.” He had to strain to hear her.

Guy turned her loose and stepped away from her, deep in thought. Men had needs and he had not allowed a woman to see to his needs since his return from London. “Are you experienced?” In the past, he had fantasized that the wench beneath him was Marian, even at times with Aedyth. As of late however, when he had seen to his own needs, it wasn’t Marian’s face dancing behind his eyelids; rather a dark-eyed vixen who spoke with a strange, unknown tongue. Somehow, the thought of imagining her while taking another held little to no appeal, whatsoever. He wanted Genevieve.

“No, my lord.”

Guy spun on her in horror. “No!” He shooed at her. “Go. Do not test me.” He twisted back towards the open window, waiting to hear the door open and shut. When it did not, he became angered. “I said-”

“My lord, please… my mother…” She was beginning to cry, he could hear it. “There was a kitchen fire a few days ago.” The knight nodded to himself. He had heard one of the guards talking about it. The wood had been piled by a child who didn’t know what he was doing and a burning log fell out, catching one of the cook’s skirts afire. “She was burned badly, both legs. She needs a healer, but I have no money and as she unable to work, the sheriff refuses to pay her, even for… for… for…”

Ah. “So,” Guy whispered, still watching the gently falling rain outside the open casement. “You sacrifice your virginity for the price of a healer.” He swallowed hard. What would he have sacrificed to heal his own mother? Bring her back from the dead? Or his father, for that matter? “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“My lord?”

He looked at her over his shoulder, staring hard. “Why me? Why have you chosen me?” With this he turned, looking very much the demon in the low light. “Surely there are others closer to your-”

“They say,” she interrupted, and after seeing him glare, she cleared her throat, “I mean, it is whispered that you are… gentle; a kind lover. And that you are generous.” 

“Ah.” For not the first time in many months, he thought of the little kitchen maid he had been mildly fond of. Searching deep, he realized he couldn’t remember her face. She was soft, kissed with a mouth of honey and when she became pregnant with what she claimed was his child, he had been fascinated in the changes, the ripening of her body, taking her up until days before she gave birth. Vaisey had been furious that he had stooped so low as to impregnate a mere servant! She disappeared soon after the babe arrived and for the first time, he wondered, hoped, she escaped, escaped him, left with the baby – a boy – Seth - and was somewhere safer than Nottingham.

_Perhaps Marian helped her… it would be like her to do such…_

In one quick, fluid motion, he went from the opening in the wall, to directly in front of her. Both hands gently cupped her face, lifting it, and he lowered his mouth to hers. She was very inexperienced, remaining rigid beneath the sweetness, the tender coaxing of his lips and when he tasted tears, he lifted his head and turned her loose. “Save your maidenhead for one who loves you and will cherish the gift, girl.” He stepped away, away from her. Despite everything, he was limp, not desiring of her in the least bit. “Now, go.”

“Sir Guy, please-”

“What part of ‘no’ is not clear?” What little bit of patience he had was quickly dissipating. 

Felicity was now crying in earnest and fumbling at the ties at the neck of her blouse. “She needs a healer and I fear for her life. Please, we have nothing of value to sell or trade.” She found her fingers caught in a vise, a grip so tight it was painful and it caused her to cry out.

“Do. Not. Barter. Your. Maidenhead.” Each word was stressed, hissed between clenched teeth, each word louder than the previous one. She opened her mouth to continue, but he put up a single finger, effectively cutting off her retort. “Turn around. Close your eyes.”

When she had done so, he went to the trunk at the foot of his bed, pulling the key from the thong around his neck and opening it. From his things, he pulled a drawstring purse, opening it and dumping several copper and silver pieces from it. Inspecting what he had in his hand, he selected a few that should be more than generous for the small service he was going to ask. He closed the trunk lid and stood up. 

“Felicity. Look at me.” She turned back around, staring at the coins in his hand and her blouse gapping. “Tie yourself back up, girl!” he grimaced. He ground out the word ‘girl.’ “Do not attempt to whore yourself again.”

“Yes sir.” She quickly began to resituate her clothing. 

“I spend more and more time in Locksley than here and I do not see that changing. However, when I am in Nottingham, I find that my room smells musty and the dust offends my nose. You are to keep it cleaned and aired out when I am not here. Keep fresh firewood in the fireplace and clean linens as well. Can you do that?”

“Yes sir.”

“Also,” he put up a long, single finger, “Lady Marian’s chamber has not been taken.”

She shook her head. “No sir.”

“You are to clean and keep her rooms as well. Pack her things if there are any left. The next time I am here, I will take responsibility for them and take charge of the room. Take nothing; I know each and every piece in the room. Hold out your hand.” She was shaking, terrified of the generous amount of coins dropped in her hand. “Should you do a good job, this will continue.” He nodded to the door. “Now go, before I change my mind.” As she turned, he grabbed her by the arm. “Say nothing, to no one. If I hear one word of this, I will make sure the sheriff knows you are making money on the side and he will tax you for it.”

Felicity was shaking her head. “Yes sir. I won’t tell a soul, Sir Guy.” Quickly, she scurried out the door, it whispering shut in her wake.

Guy rolled his eyes. _Turning down willing flesh. Virgin flesh at that! What has the world come to?_

_May my heart know only virtue. My might shall uphold the weak._

Suddenly, he felt the need for his own bed in Locksley, the desire to sit down to break his fast with Genevieve sitting across from him. It didn’t matter that her nose would be in that notebook, scribbling away at everything she was scribbling away at. With a growl, he grabbed his change purse from the trunk and throwing on his leather duster, he blew out the candles and stormed from his rooms, ready to make a stable boy’s life hell, and damning this wretched weather…

… as well as the wench he now desired to bed above all others. Somehow, he had to get her out of his mind and out of his system.

_**~~~...~~~** _

_**'cause that's the one you really want** _

_**~~~...~~~** _

_A/N - First, I made an error in the books Genevieve was reading. It was A Knight's Vengeance, not The Vengeful Knight. And by request... the listing is as follows:_

_Evie's Knight (The Knight Series) by Kimberly Krey_

_A Knight's Temptation, A Knight's Persuasion and A Knight's Vengeance by Catherine Kean_

_Knight's Caress - Lynette Vinet_

_Only in her Dreams, - Kristina McKnight_

_Seducing the Knight, (Brotherhood of the Scottish Templars) Gerri Russell_

_Sword of the Raven, - Diana Duncan_  
 _  
Wild Viking Princess - (The FitzRam Family Medieval series) Anna Markland_

_A Man of Value, (The Montbryce Legacy) Anna Markland_

_Warrior’s Bride, - Gerri Russell_

_Passion in the Blood, (The Montbryce Legacy) Anna Markland_

_Conquering Passion, (The Montbryce Legacy) Anna Markland_

_Lady in White, - Denise Domning._

_All of these came from Amazon and at one point or other were free..._

_I also wanted to thank everyone for reading and your kind reviews. Thank you._


	15. 14 ... rejoice...

_**Manna from Heaven** _

_**Chapter 14** _

_**...rejoice...** _

_  
“Pose for me in  
the bedroom with the lights  
dimmed and no music on,  
so that you can hear my sharp intake  
of breath.  
_  
 _Stand with your clothes off_  
at your most vulnerable-  
Let me explore you.  
Please?

_I want to know what makes you moan;_  
tremble;  
collapse in pleasure.   
__  
I need to know yours  
as well as you know mine.  
What makes you tick?  
How long can you last before you fall over the edge, crashing into me without a second thought? 

_Don’t think, don’t glance down; look at me._  
Time is passing and-“Do you feel that?”  
You make it easy to know that you do.  
A feeling like this shouldn’t be avoided. 

 

_Discomfort has no place in you._  
Let me erase it; let me show you that you’re mine  
and I’m yours 

_and just because there are barriers,_  
it doesn’t mean we can’t break them down with as much conviction as  
the destroyers of the Berlin Wall.  
Hold my hand.  
I will love you."  
— "Undress.", Hannah M. 

 

 

Genevieve's eyes were burning. 

It was growing late, despite the illumination from the fireplace and the additional candles on the table, the light was very poor.

_And smoky, girlfriend? Let me tell you, this hall is smokier than any bar I can remember hitting up when I was in college!_

Using hers - and Guy's notes as a base, Genevieve had begun a pros and cons column, as well as a tick sheet.

**· Must hand over personal stock**

**Pros:** No pros here, unless they planned to pay her additional for it. Genevieve didn't think they would. Had there not been other stipulations, it might have been swallowable, which might have been tolerable, but there were other conditions, none of them palatable, so unless they were going to pay her, reimburse her... So 

**Cons;** no reimbursement for it and nothing to use for barter if she established a new firm here _(see future bullet)_ or overseas. _(see future bullet)_

**· Must hand over employee stock from retirement packages here.**

Again,

**Pros:** None! A big, fat zippo!

**Cons:** it would hurt her employees.

 

Except:   
**  
· I must monetarily reimburse the employees for the stock handed over to Ficklebutte.**

**Pro:** being Genevieve's employees would get a monetary payout, 

**Cons:** being there would be no investment in their employer's company, unless they reinvested. And this would put a huge dent in Genevieve's profit. Again, this would hurt their retirements, so big, big con!

**· No compete**

On one hand, this was a huge surprise. The few times she had seen, much less heard of a no compete clause, it had to do with media and then it was six months to maybe a year. No one would demand thirty years. But they have demanded thirty years. 

**Pros:** \- well, there was the huge amount of money she was getting up front, but with the loss of revenue from the stocks, paying out the lost stock for the retirement packages, that was going to -

**CON:** \- hurt and hurt big time. Not being allowed to continue her education in such or work unless she went to Asia - did she want to go to Asia? Girlfriend, yes it was exotic, but did she really want to move there? What about Grandma? Genevieve didn't want to leave her grandmother clear around the world, for pity's sake! And she didn't think her grandmother would up and move with her. She had animals - not many, but a few. Genevieve didn't see Grandma selling off her old, blind ram, who to be honest, Grandma was quite fond of! 

Which reminded her: 

**· Question? Did Ficklebutte have the right to demand I not compete 30 years?**   
**· Question? Did Ficklebutte have the right to demand I not continue my education?**   
**· Question? Did Ficklebutte have the right to dictate where I could and could not work?**

_These are the extended voyages of the Starship Whatdafuqueizgoinoninhizhead. Stardate 119603zy7899 something or other in the Dark Ages. Your mission, Captain Val Oelle, should you decide to accept it, and you damn well better decide to accept it, will be to find these answers to these here questions before I wake up and return to these United States of America..._

_"What's up, chickiepoo?"_

_Genevieve looked up to see her office manager sitting across from her. Without a word, she shoved the notebook across the table towards the woman. "We have a problem." Without taking a breath, she rolled on. "First off, if I'm going to be here a while, I need tampons. These people use rags! I felt filthy the entire time!"_

_Val shrugged. "Don't know if I can help you there. It took a great deal of pleading to get your Tylenol to refill, much less tissue for the chamber pot."_

_"Pleading?" Genevieve sat back and crossed her arms in ire. "Who are you rubbing elbows with, Val?"_   
_  
The woman stared at her, as if she were a recalcitrant child. "Do you really wish to know?"_

_Genevieve nodded. "Yeah, I think I do."_

_Her office manager looked skyward and then back down. "The Angel of Death." Genevieve gasped. "Genevieve, you drove through a red light and into the path of an accelerating car, who knocked you into two others. One was a truck! Why? Because a shit of a man had your focus and your attention! Rather than allow you to die and allow Ficklebutte to take over your company and rape it, it was decided to give you time to look at what you should have been paying attention to, to begin with!"_

_"That's what I pay an attorney for!"_

_"True, but George is rather inattentive, isn't he?" That took the wind out of Genevieve's sails. Seeing the shock on the younger woman's face, Val backed down. "Ah, chickiepoo. Under normal conditions, he would have been on the phone with you, going over each and every detail. As it was, he was preoccupied with his wife's pending death and you were preoccupied trying to unload everything so you could become Mrs. Lamar Franklin Robencourt. And believe me, the last thing you want to be is Mrs. Lamar Franklin Robencourt."_

_Genevieve slunk back in her chair, defeat on her face. "I'm discovering that." She looked up with a visage of consternation. "Why didn't you say anything, if you saw just what a complete and total loser he is?"_

_Val shook her head. "Not a loser; a user. He's been raised to think he requires specific things in a wife. You are more than that."_   
_  
"I'm not an arm-ornament."_

_"No, you're not. And you're not stupid either, but you've let things slide with this." She tapped the notebook. "How are you doing on this?"_   
_  
Genevieve now had her head in her hands, her thumbs rubbing her eyes. "Slowly. It's Greek to me and in its original form," she gestured towards the iPad, "it gives me a headache. What's worse is, Guy tries to help and it gives him a headache as well."_

_  
"The knight is helping you?" Val sounded intrigued and somewhat pleased._

_Genevieve pulled the iPad in front of her. "Yes. Surprisingly, he understands the formality of the language in the contract better than I do." She waved her hand at the pile. "It's a foreign language to me."_   
_  
"He's quite bright, Genevieve, certainly more intelligent than the Sheriff or his sister give him credit for." The office manager turned the notepad around so she could read it. "What has you most concerned with this?" _

_Very quickly, Genevieve laid out the list she had gleaned so far. "Along with the company, they want all of my stock handed over to them, they want the stock in the employees' retirement packages handed over to them, they want me to monetarily reimburse the stocks from the retirement packages, they don't want me to work in the field at all for thirty years in the States, Canada, or Europe, meaning if I work, I'd have to move to Asia or South America. They don't even want me to teach architecture in a college or tech school, much less continue my education at all in the field!" Val snarled at that. "And they won't take over the existing projects. I am allowed that, but I'll have to pay out of my own pocket."_

_"Even though the funds have been laid aside for the firm, they'll take those funds and make you cough it up a second time."_

_"Yeah."_

_Val pushed the notepad back at her. "This does not sound like a good deal, chickiepoo."_

_"No." Genevieve reached over and after shutting the notebook, placed it on top of her iPad. "It doesn't. And it's not the tip of the iceberg."_   
_  
Val leaned back, interlocking her fingers in her lap. "What would you like me to do?" she asked nonchalantly._

_"I think, when I am done here," for some reason, that small admission made her heart clench, and unbeknownst to her, the older woman saw it, recognized it for what it was, "I'm going to have to hit the ground running. I need you to do a few things for me. I think a lot of things they are demanding, they don't have a right to demand. I don't think they have the right to keep me from working for 30 years, I don't think they have to right to dictate my professional life and I don't think they have the right to confiscate pieces of my employees retirement packages." She tapped the pile in front of her with the tip of her finger. "I think someone has a lot of balls," Val smiled tightly and nodded her head. "And truth be told, I'm not so hot to sell anymore."_

_"Why did you entertain this to begin with?"_

_Genevieve glared. She knew the answer to this and she hated admitting it. "Because, I wanted to marry Lamar and he needed his society wife to have time on her hands to jump at his needs." Val began to grin. "Thing is, now that I'm removed from the situation, I know that I would have been miserable really quick and probably would end up in prison for killing his mother." Her back relaxed as reality set in. "Either that or I would have divorced him and had nothing to show for it because as an attorney, he would make sure I get nothing, save child support and thanks to this contract, I wouldn't even be able to work to maintain or support myself!" With this spoken revelation, Genevieve pushed back from the table and stood up. "Wanker!"_

_"Over him?"_

_Genevieve back-handed the air. "Oh definitely. At least, that's not a heartache I'll have to deal with when I come to!" She rubbed her eyes. Even in her dreams, the smoke was dreadful. "Ficklebutte still trying to force the sale?"_   
__  
Val shook her head no. "Your attorney obtained an injunction. They can't do anything for three months, not until well after the New Year. Your coma is drug induced, so waking you up shouldn't be a problem." Val saw the question in Genevieve's eyes before she asked it. "Time moves slower here, chickiepoo. You concentrate on this," she pointed to the stack, "tell me what you want me to do, what you need me to do, what information I need to pass on to your attorney."  
 _  
Genevieve thought for a moment. "You already know what's in this contract, don't you, Val?"_

_The woman stared at her for quite some time before answering. "No. I've not paid attention. I'm making sure the business runs and your employees have jobs to do to get paid for. The sooner you know, the sooner you come back. The more time we have to formulate a plan to prevent this. I suspect the answer to stopping them is within the contract."_   
_  
"And the longer I'm here, the more time I spend with Guy."_

_"And the more he can help you." Val watched as a myriad of emotions crossed Genevieve's face. "Genevieve, that man is ruthless and devious. What he could teach you about vengeance and retribution-"_   
_  
"But when I return, he'll be dead and I suspect I won't even be able to find his grave to mourn, much less put flowers on, how ridiculous is that!" Val's shoulders slumped when Genevieve made this admission. "I'll come back not grieving Lamar, but grieving a knight that history won't remember well, if it remembers him at all." Her head dropped. "I should draw him, so I won't forget what he looks like."_

_Val's head jerked up, her eyes on the front door. Genevieve didn't notice, her eyes down, thoughts internalized. "You haven't drawn people in a long time, Genevieve. It might do you good. Tell me what you want me to start researching."_

_Genevieve's toe played in the road dust on the wooden floor. "Find out why they are so interested in my stock, if they have the right to force me out of the workforce, the industry. Find out if they have the right to deny me additional education." She snapped her fingers impatiently. "There is something... find out where every single percentage of stock in the company is at and who has control of if. They think they have something I can't fight and I bet it has something to do with the stock. That's the only reason why George would have to get an injunction to keep them from taking over even though I'm unconscious!" The steely gaze that Val had seen so many times when Genevieve was determined was now very much in residence on the young woman's countenance. "The sale of the stock was supposed to be private, but make sure there wasn't a leak." She tapped her lip. "I damn well better have the majority! If word got out and someone outside the company snatched it up..." the thought trickled off into the air._

_"Genevieve," Val suddenly reached over and tapped her on the arm. "Go ahead and fall in love with him. Let him take you places you've dreamed of. When you come home, we'll cross the bridge of your grief together. But for now, trust him and trust your heart in this. Now I need you to wake up."_  
  
 _"What?"_   
_  
She continued to prod Genevieve on the arm. "Wake up. He's coming. Genevieve, wake up... wake up... someone is-"_

_**~~~...~~~** _

"-coming! Someone is coming, Lady Genevieve, wake up, please wake up!" Joffrey was now shaking her in earnest. There was thunder and Genevieve realized that it was the sound of a single horse being ridden hard in the rain. She jumped up, groggy, and unsure of her surroundings. Genevieve grabbed her notepad and iPad, tucking them under her kirtle and looking for a quick place to hide them if necessary.

The guard had taken up a defensive pose in front of the barred door, his sword out. The horse and rider - who would be stupid enough to ride in this weather at night? - rode past the hall and to what sounded like the barn. For a time, the only sound was the rain and the two people breathing. 

"I want you," Joffrey whispered, "to move to the kitchen and if our visitor is unfriendly, run out the back to the woods." He grabbed Guy's old heavy leather cloak and tossed it to her. It was an awkward catch, with Genevieve trying to clutch her personal items under her clothing.

"How will I know they're unfriendly?" 

"By how they bang on the door."

Soon there was the sound of someone running through the mud, yelling come closer. "Open the door! Do not make me bang to enter my own home!" 

Joffrey quickly sheathed his weapon, but Genevieve reached the door first, slamming the cloak and her things on the table as she rushed by. "Dear God, it's Guy!" She backhanded the guard on the shoulder as she flew by. "Run up to his room and stoke the fire." She threw the bar off, threw the door open, and stepped back. "He'll be drenched and angrier than wild boar!" 

No sooner than Joffrey thundered up the stairs, a sopping-wet Guy stepped into the hall.

It felt as if all the air had been sucked out from the room. For a moment, the two stared at each other, before Genevieve's brain kicked into gear. She rushed behind him, shutting and barring the door before returning to face him. Immediately, she dragged him to the fireplace, her hands going to the clasps on his cloak. "Dear God in heaven!" Her Kentucky accent became more pronounced with each expletive, forcing Guy to concentrate on what she was saying. "What t'hell are ya doin', ridin' in the dark... in the rain even!" She slung his cloak to the table and immediately began working on the fastenings of his jerkin. "I thought you had the sense to at least pull-" She stopped herself from saying something vile and shifted gears as the first fastening came undone. "Where was your brain?" 

"Here. At your door." 

The softness of his voice caused her to stop what she was doing and look up. There was heat in his eyes, a heat she recognized the first time he laid his mouth on her, kissing moisture from a bath trickling down her face. Just like that first time, he bent, his mouth caressing her ear. "Tell me, m'lady. If you do not want me, tell me 'no' now." Genevieve jerked back, horror on her face. 

_Did he not realize..._

"Tell me no. I will spend this night in the barn and on the morrow, Joffrey will take you to Ripley's Convent." The knight was staring up at the rafters, as if frightened to even look at her. "The nuns...the nuns there take a vow of silence. You would be able to work in peace." If he was aware his mailed jerkin was completely undone and being slid from his shoulders, he made no mention of it or acknowledged it. 

There was a thud and it hit the chair. 

Two small, soft hands cupped his face, gently bringing it down, down to look at her. "Guy, what do you really want? Do you want me to stay? Do you want me to go? Tell me the truth." She repeated the first question. "What do you really want?" 

For a moment, the only sound was the rain outside, the muted echo of the droplets hitting the thatch. As he gripped her bodice, what started as a whisper, began to pour out in a rush. "I want you in my bed." He pressed his mouth to hers and whispered into her, "I want you naked and thrashing beneath me and I desire to see you quake in ecstasy when I bring you pleasure. I want to feel you wet and wanting in my arms and I want the taste of you on my tongue. I want to hear my name on your lips when you cannot take anymore and I want you to forget every man you have lain with before me. I want to be your last desire." Genevieve's hands were in his hair, his long locks twisted about her fingers, holding him to her as he continued. "I want to greet the morn with the warmth of you by my side and I do not give all the mice in the roof if anyone catches us!" His hands drifted to the curve of her derriere and cupped her possessively. "I want to lay you on the table and have you to break my fast. I want to try you on for size, explore every fantasy and road with you and damn your time and damn your company and damn Nottingham and damn Vaisey!" Words were coming out as a pouring torrent, a violently falling water and yet he was not done. "I want to know if I have the right to love anyone again or if I am even capable of it and I want to explore that with you." With that, he pulled her into him. "Lay with me tonight or tell me nay so that I can forget all and run to my death for I know this life, if I do not turn from it, will certainly kill me." 

He leaned back slightly, staring, searching her. "Genevieve. Please-"

She placed her fingers over his mouth. "That's a lot of... want," she began with a smile, her eyes bright with desire. "Let's start at the beginning, shall we?" She didn't give him a chance to respond, for she took it from him. "If you want me in your bed, then we need to go upstairs and get you out of your wet things and my now wet things off." She stepped back, the front of her tunic now damp and clinging to her body. She took both of his hands in hers. "I want you and patience is not something I have a lot of. Shall we?" 

With a predatory growl, Guy scooped her up in his arms, heading up the stairs in a rush, much like he had - was it forever and a day? - when he brought her to this darkened pit and carried her into his room the day she fell on him in the woods. He ignored Joffrey, who was stepping from his chambers and had to step back further into the darkened hallway as Guy carried Genevieve into his room and only blinked when the door shut in his face. 

"I... uhm... well I built the fire in yer room, Sir Guy." He moved towards the landing, unable to decide if he wanted to continue to look at the door or gaze upon the mini-destruction of the hall; things left on the table, Sir Guy's wet clothing on the furniture, in the floor, candles still lit. The guard ran his fingers through unruly hair. "Yew prolly know that, but maybe not. Guess I'll clean up a bit, 'fore I turn in." He trudged down the stairs, attempting to be oblivious to the sounds coming from his master's quarters. 

He reached the bottom of the stairs, taking in the things slung haphazardly around the room, on the floor, the table. He began the arduous task of picking up the wet clothing from the floor and hanging them up on the hooks near the door. Lady Genevieve's strange things were lying on the table, under the old heavy leather duster of Sir Guy's and he pondered on what to do with them. He could wait until he was done and then take them to her room. But she might go back to her room when it was over as Sir Guy never allowed a wench to spend the entire night in his bed. He could take them back to his room and wait until the morning to return them to her. This was bothersome. He stood several minutes deep in thought, trying to decide what to do with the things. Suddenly, the door upstairs flew open. "Joffrey! We are not to be disturbed tomorrow." Genevieve's giggling could be heard over Guy's roaring. "We will come down when we are ready."

Joffrey's eyebrows reached his hairline. That answered that. "Yes, Sir Guy." 

The door slammed and Joffrey swore he heard the bar on it drop. Without another word, he reached for the wet leather jerkin lying in the floor and hung it up as well, attempting to shake the water from the hide.

_  
**~~~...~~~** _

Guy set Genevieve down in front of the fireplace, the fire roaring. Immediately, her bare toes dug into the hide of the large animal pelt lying in front of the fireplace. Quickly, before he lost his nerve or she changed her mind, he plucked at the laces of her kirtle, before peeling it from her. As she stated in the hall, her tunic was damp, clinging to her curves. He began turning her until he found the ties on the tunic, he unlaced them as well. Once loosened, he pulled the tunic over her head and slung it into the corner as well. This left her wearing nothing but...

...her small, small, small, really small clothes, that left more uncovered than covered, and the outlandish garment he inspected so closely when she arrived. 

"A strange corset?" 

With a shy smile - something Guy would have never thought he would see grace her face - she turned her back to him. "Unhook me?" 

Calloused fingers grazed over her shoulder blades, tracing the edge of the garment. He found the 'hooks' and quickly unfastened them, running his fingers under the straps and removing it from her body. It too was slung to the pile where he hoped his own clothing would join hers shortly. Taking her by the shoulders, he turned her to face him, frowning when he saw her hands covered her breasts. He pulled them from her body and placed them at her side. "Do not hide what is mine from me." 

She blushed.

Guy had massaged this skin, her back, his fingers had tantalized and teased her stomach. But he only glimpsed bits and used his imagination as to what she looked like. 

His imagination had not done her justice. 

Had Guy's mother been alive, she would have informed her son the woman standing before him was a fae princess: a fairy queen. Petite in stature, but full-figured, with well-fleshed legs that led to a bottom that begged to be cupped, pinched, nipped, licked. Her hips were full, rising to a slightly indented waist, and full, firm, heavy breasts. 

Genevieve worked out - a stress reliever that was doctor ordered - but rather than have the toned, firm body of an athlete, her curves were generous, soft. Privately, Genevieve considered herself fat: The Gator had mentioned several times she was not model stick thin, somehow making her fear she was lacking in some way. The woman had hinted rudely on several occasions perhaps she should intensify her workout, to something besides a stationary bike or treadmill, but truth was, Genevieve did not desire to be rail thin and bones and besides, Lamar hadn't complained. She would realize, when she was alone in the days to come, that she was rebelling against a boyfriend who did not defend her, revolting against his mother and their determination to make her, mold her into something she wasn't. 

But this moment, the two were nowhere near her thoughts. Instead, she was basking in the glow of the look of appreciation and desire on Guy's face. 

He spun his finger. "Turn." She did so, looking over her shoulder, looking for...

_Acceptance. Approval._

She completed the turn and began the rotation again. "Stop." He leaned over, not touching her body, which made her skin scream, demanding the warmth, the electricity of contact. The kiss, when his lips finally lit on hers, was gentle; again, it reminded her of butterflies, the very first kiss they shared, something... innocent. 

She leaned in to intensify it, to invite him to deepen it. Instead, he stepped back. "Wait." Quickly, he rushed to the door and flung it open. "Joffrey! We are not to be disturbed tomorrow." His voice was loud, booming, the sound of it echoing in the room made her laugh. "We will come down when we are ready." Oh, this did bode well! 

Again, the thought flitted through her mind. _Will he live up to your hype? Your fantasy?_

_I'll bet he does, chickiepoo!_

Guy dropped the bar on his door, ensuring their privacy, before turning back towards her, a predatory gleam in his eye. "If we are ready in the morning," he whispered, finishing the thought. "I might like to lie abed all day." He leaned over the bed, grabbing the pillows and tossed them in her direction, before toeing each boot at the heel, removing them by the third step. "I believe I shall pray for rain all day." His hands went to the knotted ties on his sleeves. 

One was undone by the time he reached her. 

Genevieve was unaware she had stopped breathing. He drew up next to her, one hand reaching behind her and fingers splayed against the indented small of her back, pulled her against him. Gently, he turned her, so her shoulders were pressed against him, the hard length of his body. She watched as his hand and arm snaked around her, bare skin brushing her breasts and making her nipples ache. Deftly, he untied the final strand wrapped around his arm and with a fluid motion, pulled the shirt over his head and flung it to the growing pile of clothing. As he retracted his arm, he heard a sharp, intake of breath, of shock and horror that he had prayed he wouldn't hear.

Genevieve grabbed his arm, turning it to inspect the scarring. It was ugly; pale, smooth, cross-grained, hairless skin on an otherwise perfectly masculine, muscled arm. It was the only thing that marred him, spoiled an otherwise flawless physique. "Who did this to you?" The fury in her voice was not concealed.

Refusing to allow her to distract him and trying desperately to keep the mood from souring, his other hand brushed her neck, tucking her hair behind her ear and baring the white column to him. He blew, causing her to tip to the side, before licking the exposed flesh beneath her ear. "It pains me not. Do not worry." He pressed his lips to the delicate flesh and began to nibble, gently bite at the highly sensitive skin, pulling small portions of the folds into his mouth.

Genevieve was melting. Finally, his hands went to her breasts, she supposed to hold her up, when in reality, both were sinking to the fur. "We'll... discuss this... later..." She was beyond breathless.

"Stop talking." Both were now on the floor, spooned together facing the fire. Genevieve was vaguely aware that they fit together perfectly, his body cupped and protected hers as if made to interlock like a puzzle.

Guy, on the other hand, was extremely aware that her bottom was molded into his groin more beautifully than any woman's had. Truth was, he never allowed a wench to spend the night after he used her as he desired, nor did he stay in their beds. He had allowed himself some... leniency with Annie. For a short time, he was content to bask in the afterglow with her, to enjoy her warmth, the closeness, but that had not lasted long. 

On his ride home in the rain, he pondered if once he had lain with Genevieve, would the spell she cast on him be lifted? But right now, that was not a thought that lingered. Right now...

He ground into her, allowing her to feel that which was causing him much discomfort. And she responded by wiggling that curvaceous arse into him, only making him harder. 

With a growl, he rolled her over, using a knee to spread her legs apart. As he settled between them, he nuzzled her neck and caressed her thigh, coaxing her leg above his hip. As his hand moved upwards, he caught the string of her...

"What do you call this?" His voice was ragged, as he pulled on the band. 

"Thong." Genevieve's hands were well into the roots of his hair, her mouth trying to make contact with his Adam's apple. The heat of her breath only inflamed him more. "It's a thong." 

He made short work removing it and flinging the flimsy piece of material away. "Should be scrap." For not the first time, he decided that small clothes for women should be done away with. The only reason they seemed to serve was to slow a man with a purpose down. Genevieve's small, small, small clothes, - thong - however, served to only entice and inflame him more. Much to Genevieve's ire, Guy reared back, settling on his knees, drinking her in. He dragged his finger down her stomach. He stopped momentarily at the edge of the juncture of her thighs, shaking his head in wonder at the interesting, but odd shape of her pubic hair. 

"Landing strip." Genevieve was watching him and guessed what he was thinking. She rose up on her elbows. "I think it's unfair that you still have clothes on and I'm naked." 

Guy shrugged in that way only he seemed to do. Taking her by the hand, he pulled her up and to her knees before he himself stood up. "Unlace me."

He had to give her credit; she did try. The leather laces were wet from the rain, making the chore difficult. He would have procured his dagger to cut them, but she looked beautiful, her tongue worrying with the edge of her lip as she fought with the crossties. 

_And on her knees..._

Finally, they came loose and with a whipping sound, his trousers were peeled off and joined the pile in the corner. Guy started to join her back on the pelt, but Genevieve shook her head. "Don't. I just want to look at you." From her position on the floor, her eyes drifted down, while her hands stroked up his legs, around his thighs.

For a minute, she took in the glow of the fire, how it played over his fair skin. "You are beautiful." It was a husky whisper, low pitched. 

"Men are not beautiful, Genevieve." 

"You are." 

Guy started to retort, but ended up catching his breath as her hand reached his cock. 

She stroked upwards, marveling in the length, the width. _'This_ ,' she marveled to herself, _'is a man! He's hung like a fucking stallion!'_ Her fingers curved, grasping him, continuing to stroke upwards, realizing as she reached the head...

"Why are you smiling?" It wasn't an accusation, simply a curious remark. 

Genevieve finally looked up at him, still clutching him firmly. "My, what an impressive broadsword you have, Sir Guy." 

Finally, he sank before her, her hand never losing contact with his shaft. "It needs to be sheathed." He began to nudge her backwards, positioning the two of them for what he prayed would be a pleasurable assault. Again, one hand found the velvet of her thigh, bringing her leg over his hip. His mouth found her collarbone as he worked his way down. "Why are you smiling?" 

"No more talk, Guy." Genevieve had her hands around his hips, positioning him, positioning her. "Just... do." 

"I plan to do much more than... do." His breath was hot and Genevieve was glistening in the firelight. Somehow, Guy thought... hoped... it wasn't the heat of the room that had her in a sweat. Both hands were now beneath her breasts, pushing them up, together. His mouth found one, sucking it in, as his thumb and finger rolled the other into an aching knot. He smiled against her when he heard her breath hitch, felt her heart quicken beneath his mouth. Her hands were back in the roots of his hair, tugging, but not painfully. 

Aware that she had now locked her ankles at the top of his hips, he pressed against her, stroking upwards, to tease, but not penetrate. He slid up velvet heat - _Jesu, she was wet_ \- a slick path from that sweet cavern he was going to plunder, over her clit and on upwards. He repeated this several times, ensuring her desire and coating himself liberally. With each upward thrust, he tugged firmly on the breast in his mouth, relishing the pull on his hair...

and the wailing obscenities that were beginning to fall from her mouth. 

_Dammit dammit please oh please stop teasing me dammit..._

He started to say something about her language, her chamber pot mouth, but truth was, the fact she was begging for him, only made him harder. He reared up, positioned himself...

"Look at me." It was raspy, hoarse. Genevieve's eyes flew open, somehow reflecting the flames in the fireplace. Her eyes searched, glazed over... "Look at me." Finally she found his, orbs of steel, hard. The hand teasing her other breast moved upwards, the palm encasing her neck, long fingers splayed about her jawline, holding her captive. "You are mine. You belong to me." He thrust, burying himself almost to the hilt.

She was tight and hot and wet and he wondered if she lied to him, if she were virgin. He started to ask her, see if she was in pain, if he had hurt her, but-

She arched upward, meeting him, trying to accommodate, take more of him. He sank completely in, thoroughly encased. "Yes." His fingers continued to splay over her throat. He pulled almost completely out before thrusting in again.

_By the Saints, she had to be tearing she was so tight._

"Mine."

"Yes."

He turned her loose, both hands now braced on either side of her head. He set a rhythm, a hard tattoo, the only sound in the room a harmonized trio of crackling flame, flesh meeting flesh and harsh breathing. At one point, her nails dug into his shoulders, causing him to hiss. He pulled the tiny daggers from his flesh and pinned the wrists beside her head.

Her nostrils flared and he swore he heard her murmur...

_Sir._

Somehow, in the back of his head, he didn't think the use of his title was... the use of his title. It was different, something...earned. Something... precious. It was a fleeting thought because he was quickly reaching his point of no return. He released her wrists, sat back on his knees, straddling her right leg and rolled her so her left leg was over his hip. He took a moment to admire the broad flare, the span of them, as generous as her breasts. Bony was never a pleasing feature on a woman in his point of view and Genevieve was NOT skin and bones. As he rested back on his knees, he watched the curve of her bum shudder and those sweet tits bounce. He stroked upwards, catching her hand in his, fingers interlocking.

_Ah. You were right, Gisborne. One night will not get her out of your system. Make whatever deal you have to make with some demon to keep her here with you._

It happened before he realized. Her pussy clenched, sucking him in, coaxing the earth from him. His world rocked as he came, falling on her -

_God Jesu please_

\- as he spent himself. He thrust once... twice... three times, unaware that the woman beneath him had again locked her legs around him, her arms around his neck and was relishing the throb of him against the inside of her entrance and the sound of his primitive breathing in her ear. As the world righted itself, he buried his face in the crook of her neck, savoring the feel of her still wrapped around him and the touch of her fingertips tracing paths through the rivulets of perspiration between his shoulder blades. 

Suddenly, he pushed up, bracing himself on his hands. "You have not found pleasure!" 

Her eyes flew open in shock. This had been pleasant, she was enjoying the weight of him on her, between her legs. When he reared up, he slid from her body, semen trickling from him and her. "What?" 

"You have not finished! You have found no release!" 

He was correct in that; she had not come, but that was normal for her the first time she was with a man. Men were funny about that sort of thing, took it personally, a blow to their fragile egos, in fact. It was out of her mouth before she thought. "Yes, I did." 

His expression hardened. "Do not lie to me, Genevieve." Again, his hand came around her throat, barely controlled violence skimming the surface. "There is one thing I cannot tolerate is a liar. _She_ lied to me." This hissed admonishment caused Genevieve to swallow hard. "You are not even breathing hard. Do _not_ lie to me."

All the spirit drained from her. _This wonderful moment ruined because of her inability..._

"Guy, it's okay. It's not your fault." 

"Genevieve-" 

"Please. You're scaring me." Quickly, he turned loose of her, still pinning her to the fur with his body. She took a deep breath. "It's not your fault. Sometimes, I... well... I... I just don't."

"What do you mean, 'sometimes you just do not'?'"

Genevieve squirmed. This was so embarrassing. She never came the first time she was with a new partner, in fact she rarely came, but she didn't want to tell him that. That would lead to a round of questions she didn't want to answer. 

"Genevieve..." It was ground out between clenched teeth.

"I was," she began shakily, nervously caressing his hair, "concentrating so much on you and what I thought you wanted, I didn't concentrate on me." She stroked his shoulder. "It happens. It happens a lot. That's the truth. I'm not lying." 

"Look at me." It took a moment, but she finally looked up at him. "Why are you ashamed? If you care so much for my enjoyment, do you not think I will care so much for yours? What sort of lover would I be if I did not ensure your pleasure?" 

"But-"

"Shh." He laid a finger over her lips. "You will not speak. Just enjoy." His mouth replaced his finger, the kiss beginning sweetly, before it heated, nibbling. Genevieve tried to entangle her fingers in his hair, but again, he removed them and pinned her wrists high above her head. 

Truth was, Guy was rather relieved that she admitted she focused on him; now that he had spent himself, it would take him a bit of time to recuperate and he could spend it enjoying and exploring her without the immediate need and compulsion to take her again. He nipped her shoulder, causing her to inhale sharply. 

He moved to her side, taking time to suck on the breast he had not nibbled on before, playing with the other nipple and forcing them to harden. She was slick with perspiration from their earlier exertions and taking his time, he licked down the length of her torso, reveling in the salt of her. As he moved closer to her juncture, he recognized the musk of not only her sex, but his.

She clamped her legs together. 

"Open them."

"Wouldn't you prefer I wash...it... first?" 

"No." It was long, drawn out.

_Nnnnnooooooooooooo..._

"Open your legs for me, Genevieve." His voice had dropped to a low growl, almost a purr, deep with authority and a promise of something she wasn't sure she wanted if she didn't comply. Slowly, she opened her legs, Guy's hands moving to the joints where her thighs met her pussy, holding them so if she should try to slam them shut, it would be a failing attempt. With both index fingers, he spread her, opened her up like a flower. 

_Honeysuckle..._

She was wet, glistening, her juices and his intermingled. In fact, she was full of him, his seed, something he now desired to keep her overflowing with. Repositioning so two fingers from his left hand held her opened, he gently inserted his index and long middle finger into her, sliding up into that tight passage. She arched up to meet him, presenting herself. This was all the invitation he needed. Starting at the top of her vulva, he licked downwards, his encased fingers sliding out and stroking down to the tight bud of her backside, his tongue now delving deep where his cock had recently been, sucking, licking the juices of the two of them in. 

She jumped when he touched that clenched rosette. Leaving his fingers where they lay, he raised his head, his other hand now pressing down on her pelvis. "Stop." Shaking, she obeyed. He continued to toy with her. "No one has touched you there?" 

"N-n-n-ooooo..."

Guy's grin was evil. _Something someone had not touched. Virgin flesh._ Suddenly, the knight was no longer jealous of her previous partners, was abruptly aware he had been jealous of her prior lovers. Extremely jealous. This was new and obviously frightening territory for her, so he decided to put that part of her-

_training_

education off for some other time. Right now...

"Open. Relax. I will not harm you." His fingers returned to their original position, stroking and looking for that hard knot inside that should set her aflame. He felt her body unwind. "Trust me?" 

"Yes." 

His mouth returned to her pussy, finding her clit and clamping down on it. He worried it, suckled it, set a slow, steady pace that should have set her screaming. 

She was working for it, trying, he could feel her clenching, trying to bear down...

_This is just exercise for her. Something...is wrong..._

He shot up, grabbing her by the hand. "Up!" Genevieve's face was white, unsure what was getting ready to happen, terrified he would throw her out and Guy looking about the room before spying what he needed. He picked her up by the waist and sat her in the chair, pulling it around to face him. "Grab the knobs behind your head." Not waiting to see if she obeyed, he knelt down, lifted her legs and placed them over the arms of the chair. He then reached around, moving her hips forward until she was hanging on the edge of the seat. Again, as he had earlier, he reached around her thigh, bringing his hand to that he had plundered and again spreading her, he put his mouth to her.

This time, she thumped. 

_Good. We are getting somewhere._

With his other hand, he slid two fingers, up, deep inside her. She was bearing down, her inner walls, searching...

_There!_

That inner knot was right...there.. and once he found it and she realized he found it, she began to move, work with him, her entire body, building in crescendo. 

She began to moan, quickly muffled. Replacing his mouth with the two fingers from his hand holding her open, he looked up, to see her mouth buried deep in her shoulder. Stopping what he was doing, he smacked her thigh, not hard, but enough to turn it a mild pink and get her attention. "Stop that! I want to hear you." He waited until she was looking down at him, her breathing labored. He resumed his efforts, his fingers again stroking that hard, hidden spot, his mouth back on her. Within moments, her voice began to rise, nonsense words and sounds running together...

_Ohshitohdamnohpleaseohpleaseohpleaseohyeahohbabyohpleaseoh..._ kjl

He was ready and hard again, but his own stubbornness was winning this particular battle. He pressed harder, watching for her upswing.

He felt the beginnings of it the same moment she did. It started as a pulse, an undercurrent pulling through the water at the very core of her being, rising up. She clenched, bore down, waves of moisture flooding his fingers, the palm of his hand. Guy leaned back, his thumb replacing his mouth as he watched and felt her explode. 

_SHITfuckfuckfuckfuckyesyesyesohyesssssssss..._

And then came the aftershocks. He didn't let up, simply kept stroking, watching her face as her head hit the back of the chair, her thighs quivering.

She was gasping for breath and in that instant, Guy felt more... satisfaction... than he had felt with any woman, because he knew that for all of her so-called experience, this was a first for her and he intended to bind her to him with it. 

But this moment, he needed her again. He stood up, grabbed her hand and pulled her from the chair. Genevieve's eyes were glazed; she was still in the final throes of her orgasm. One minute, she was gasping for breath in the chair, the next, she found herself on her hands and knees on the bed, being dragged backwards towards the edge. Guy knew due to his height and her lack of it, this position was not possible if they were on the same level. The bed put her in perfect position, with her elevated and him still on the floor. She was still trembling, pulsating from her exertions when he impaled her, sliding in to the hilt. One hand found her hair, fingers at the roots, pulling her head up and back, the other reached around and started playing with her, tuning her and sending her back into a fever pitch. Now that he knew where that spot was at, his prick searched it out, found it and pummeled it into submission. Neither one was quiet. This time when she exploded, he was there with her, both of them vibrating together. When she had squeezed the last drop from him, they collapsed on the bed, both wheezing. They lay for a few minutes, limbs entangled and piled much like their discarded clothing, his mouth in her neck, his hand covering hers, fingers interlaced, heartbeats collectively out of control. 

It was sometime before he got up, retrieved the pillows from the floor and crawled back into the bed. He dragged her on top of him, cradling her in his arms, the heat of the room generated by the fire in their lovemaking. His legs were wrapped around her, holding her close, those sweet, butterfly kisses raining about her forehead. Genevieve willed her heartbeat to slow down, demanded her body relax. She realized Guy was murmuring... murmuring not in English... but in... French? She recognized the lyrical cadence, the syllables running together.

_Peu d'un beau doux ma joie mon précieux ne moi quittez pas s'il vous plaît._

Her head lay on his chest, listening to the strong, solid thud of his heartbeat. The sound of it was reassuring. "Hmmm?" 

Had she looked up, she would have seen Guy's eyes were like glittering ice. "Have you never received pleasure in lovemaking before?" 

Genevieve's eyes were still closed, so she was unaware that he was watching her closely. "Not like that. It's never been that... intense... or wonderful before." Her breathing began to deepen. 

Guy clutched her tighter. "Genevieve?" 

"Hmmm?" 

He was stroking her hair, staring into the canopy of the bed. "Never, _never_ lie to me. It is the one thing I cannot forgive." 

"No prob." Her breathing evened out.

Guy held her securely, the weight of her oddly comforting. 

Unbeknownst to him, Genevieve's mind was whirling as she drifted off. 

_Why had Marian lied to him and why could he not forgive or forget it?_

_**~~~...~~~** _

_**X is just to mark the spot** _

_**~~~...~~~** _

_Peu d'un beau doux ma joie mon précieux ne moi quittez pas s'il vous plaît._

_Little one sweet beautiful one my joy my precious please do not leave me._


	16. 15 - ...at wrong doing...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to take a moment and thank everyone who is reading and thank those who have left such wonderful reviews. I am humbled anyone would read my silliness.

_**Corrected. Complete with scarfed artwork, but I know where this one came from...** _

_**Manna from Heaven** _

_**Chapter 15** _

_**...at wrongdoing...** _

Guy was in a bad mood.

A bad, bad, bad mood. 

Bad-bad. Bad.

He had not been in this bad a mood in... well, since he found out Marian was the Nightwatchman, that she had lied to him, used him, robbed him, made him look like a love-sick idiot, that he had stabbed her, almost killing her and he had no choice, but to concoct a ruse and eat some serious crow, as well as put up with physical abuse from Vaisey to keep her alive and how had she paid him back? She tried to kill the Sheriff, putting him (Guy him) in an impossible situation and...

and...

Suffice to say he was in a bad mood.

The way Guy saw it, he was supposed to have spent the rainy day in bed, with the warm _(hot)_ and curvaceous _(cuddly and horny)_ Genevieve curled up next to him, beneath him, and on top of him. It had started out that way.

He had taken her twice again in the night. 

_Shall we be honest, Gisborne? You took her once. She took you the second time. You woke up as the sun rose and she was riding you into oblivion..._

After rising to take care of his morning's business (and teasing her for putting her head under her pillow so she wouldn't hear him taking care of business), he went down into the kitchen to bring up breakfast, told Fiona that with the rain, both were feeling under the weather, so they were going to be lazy upstairs - somehow, he did not think Fiona believed it. And the woman could deal with it or leave - and not to send anyone upstairs just in case one or the other were contagious! 

He knew Fiona did not buy that lie for a moment, but still. 

So, they had breakfast in bed, where he discovered Lady Genevieve enjoyed nipping as much as he did. (his fingers were still feeling her oral assault hours later!) They got crumbs everywhere, which they both blamed on the other. He was preparing for another sensual overture when his name being yelled from the base of the stairs carried into his chambers. 

Joffrey - God bless the man - remembered his orders and rather come up, simply shouted until he was acknowledged. Guy still had his leggings on and prepared to lambast his guard when he reached the landing to see the guard was not alone. 

Two high ranking sentries and the bailiff from Nottingham Castle were in the hall. All three were wet from the ride in the rain and looking none too pleased that they were in his hall. "Wot?"

"There is ugly business in Nottingham, my lord." The bailiff - Gregory - was wringing the water from his cap onto the wooden floor. "I would let it wait until the rain stopped, but the screaming has been profuse." 

Guy made his way slowly and heavily down the stairs. He was aware that Genevieve had thrown his shirt on and was standing in the shadows, out of sight, clinging to the door frame, but able to hear. "Who has been bellowing?" He snatched the hat from his hands. "If you wring anymore water on the floor, I will allow my housekeeper to slap you." Unseen by Genevieve or Guy, Fiona stood in the kitchen door, her head nodding, silently thanking her employer.

Gregory answered without much embarrassment. "The prisoner, the accuser, and the bailiff of Lincoln." He leaned over, although everyone could hear him anyway. "'Tis been rather amusing, truthfully, but I fear the accused might be high born and if the accusations are true, we could be in some trouble. Even if they are not true, it could be trouble. Either way, there will be trouble and I thought you would know best."

Guy was starting to get a headache. His plans of spending the day in bed with Genevieve were diminishing. "What is the bailiff of Lincoln doing in Nottingham?" In the back of his head, Guy began to attempt to formulate a way to salvage this situation.

Gregory's smile was unpleasant. "It appears the accused was caught stealing from the Lincoln tanner. Red-handed."

"And this has what to do with us?"

"Come and hear for yourself. The things he supposedly stole, belong to a...uhm... local family."

Spending the day in bed in Genevieve was definitely now out of the question. "What local family?" 

"Come hear for yourself." If Guy didn't know better, he would swear the man was flirting with him. "Trust me, Sir Guy, you won't be disappointed."

_**~~~...~~~  
** _

Guy honestly did not understand why the Sheriff took such pleasure in sentencing criminals.

It was a tiresome, loathsome, energy-draining chore. The same excuses, over and over...

_The taxes are too high, milord. I have to feed my family._

_Yeah, yeah, shut it._ The king could care less about the number of deer in the forest. John is probably clueless! But Vaisey does...

Thing is, Guy could remember when there was a time, he had done the same thing to feed himself and his sister. The difference was he wasn't caught. His thoughts were interrupted by a tap at his shoulder. "First one, milord."

"How many?" Since he was here, he might as well hear all of the complaints. Get them over with. The sooner he finished them all, the sooner he could get back to Locksley and hole up with Genevieve.

"Nine." The guard jerked his head sideways, motioning to the line. "Methinks the first is the worst of the lot."

"The one I was rousted from bed for?" A shackled man who looked to be in his 60's was brought forth. The man's family members stood along the wall, crying for mercy. He shook his head; the cacophony was atrocious! Guy motioned for a goblet of wine. Passing sentence on criminals was a thirsty business. "State your name and your crime."

"My lord," the man's voice was slightly cultured and memorable. Guy looked up, peered closer.

The man looked familiar.

"Do you have a name?"

"Robert, my lord sheriff. Robert Longthorn."

Guy propped his elbows on the arms of the chair and cupping his hands together, set his chin and nose into the curve of his thumbs and clasped fingers. That name was familiar.

_Longthorn...Longthorn...THE OLD NOTTINGHAM BAILIFF! Oh, I have a score to settle with you!_

Guy had to contain his glee. Revenge was a dish best served cold and this was about as cold as one could get. Twenty years in the making. Oh, he prayed his crime was grievous. Theft. According to Gregory, the man had been caught stealing. That was rather heinous. "Why are you here?" The goblet and a pitcher of wine were handed to him. After pouring at it, he handed the pewter to the man cowering in front of him. "You look parched. I would hate for you to collapse on me."

_Not to mention, I wish to make sure it is not poisoned!_

Seeming to watch the former bailiff lift the chalice, he motioned for his guard. "Get Isabella, quickly," he whispered. "Bring her here and bring no attention to yourself. Tell her to say not a single word." He continued to watch Longthorn as the guard made his way quietly behind people up the stairs. Once the man did not crumple to the floor, Guy motioned for a second goblet and poured a drink for himself. He sat back in the chair, handing the pitcher to the servant and allowing the goblet to dangle precariously between his fingertips. He eyed the man shrewdly through hooded eyes. "What charges have been brought against you?" For the life of him, he sounded bored.

"'Tis a ... misunderstanding, is all." He had the audacity to shrug as if it were a mild annoyance. "Nothing more. Nothing less." 

"My lord," another man stepped forward. "This man was once the bailiff of Nottingham until he was relieved from his office by the then lords of Locksley and Gisborne some twenty years ago."

_These men have no idea who I am. Oh, the berry of this wine is getting sweeter and sweeter._

Longthorn sneered. "Only Malcolm Locksley was a lord. Roger Gisborne was simply a knight." 

Guy swirled the wine in his chalice, watching the liquid eddy. "In that case, it would be Sir Roger, to you and he would still out-rank you." He lifted it to his lips and began to drink.

"Longthorn relocated to Worksop some four weeks ago and, according to witnesses, immediately began to poke around the old Gisborne property."

Guy attempted to look disinterested, concentrating on emptying his chalice. He handed his empty goblet to the servant at his chair and retrieved his small, curved dagger from his belt. "Why," he began cleaning his nails with his blade, "were you relieved from your office of bailiff by the two lords?"

The man stood taller. Ah, this arrogant chap was the haughty, jealous monster Guy remembered and swore vengeance on. "The Gisborne lands were granted to Roger Gisborne for service to the crown. He was presumed dead. By law, his lands should have reverted to the Lord of Locksley, however Malcolm of Locksley chose to allow Sir Roger's French whore of a wife to maintain and keep hold of the property." 

At the utterance of the insult against his mother, Gisborne accidentally jabbed his middle finger under the nail with his stiletto, causing it to bleed. The slur infuriated Guy; his mother had been a kind, generous soul, despite the coldness and untrusting nature of the people in their village. The Black Knight was not known for his even temper on a good day and holding it now was difficult. He concentrated on the nicked digit. "So, you left after you were removed from your position and now you have returned. Why?"

"My wife's family," he replied with false meekness. "Her father died last winter and her mother is poorly."

Guy's patience had reached its end. At least his finger was not bleeding horribly. He nodded to Longthorn's accuser. "Why are you here?" His voice was pitched low, a dangerous decibel indeed. "What are you accusing him of?" Isabella now stood at the back of the room, the guard's hand on her elbow, and she too, now recognized the man. She fingered her dagger at her belt. If her brother was too lenient to do the job, she would not be. 

"My father was a resident of the village. After the fire, some things were salvaged from the home; things that would be of interest to Sir Roger's children should they claim it."

Guy's interest was piqued. "What types of things?"

"Plate mostly. A few goblets. A jewelry casket. There was also Sir Roger's tack for his horse; a saddle, an Arab saddle blanket, the bridle and bit." 

Had any of the property been in Nottingham, Guy would have known about it and claimed it. Regardless of its value, or lack thereof, it meant something to him. Neither he nor Isabella had anything of their parents. "Have you not tried to find Sir Roger's family?"

"My family moved to Lincoln not long after... the fire. I was but a babe." Which is why Guy did not recognize the man, nor he him. If he was in Lincoln and Longthorn in Worksop, there was small chance they knew who he was. This would most definitely play in his favor. "We heard through a family member that Longthorn was asking around about the Gisborne property, the things in it, who owned it. He came to me two weeks back and demanded the property we held on to. Said it was due him, promised to him by the previous lord. I refused."

"You have no right to withhold what was promised me by Lady Ghislaine!"

"This Lady Ghislaine who promised you property," Guy spoke quietly, "would be the same woman you referred to as a French whore?" Longthorn snapped his mouth shut, the line around it now white and grim. "Somehow, I do not believe you."

"Last Sunday, when we returned from Mass, we noticed things had been moved around, missing from the storage shed; things that were salvaged from the Gisborne home after it burned, as well as other items. A neighbor, who had stayed home with an ill wife, said he noticed Longthorn poking around and loading things on a wagon. He questioned him and Longthorn claimed I had sold him the things he was loading up. We chased him down along with the bailiff there."

Longthorn was again attempting to be intimidating. "These things belong to me! You have no right to keep them from me!"

_'Oh, I have every right!'_

Guy was losing patience quickly and it took all of his effort to keep from just running the man through and being done with it. Looking to the back of the hall, he saw Isabella again fingering her knife. No doubt, she thought he would let this man who made their lives so miserable off. 

_Not hardly._

"Where are the items now?"

"The bailiff here has them, awaiting on your judgment." 

Guy appeared to ponder the information before him. Small wonder Gregory sent for him immediately, rather than let it wait. The truth was, he wanted answers to questions before he revealed himself. "Your family has not used, assimilated the plate or tack in with your own possessions?" 

"No, my lord. My parents were adamant the things were to go to Sir Roger’s family; his children. They were not to be used or sold until they were found, no matter how long it took."

"Sir Roger of Gisborne had no family! It is rightfully-"

"Sir Roger had two children!" Guy had had all he could take from the man. Ramming his knife into the arm of the chair, he bolted from his seat and bore down on the accused.

"They have not been seen for twenty years, my lord," Longthorn sneered. "If they had returned from France, they would have claimed it-"

"THEY HAVE NOT CLAIMED IT BECAUSE YOU-"

_'That's right; you go back to where you came from. News of your father's shame wouldn't have reached France, yet.'_

"-CAST THEM OUT AND THREW THEM TO THE WILDS! CHILDREN!" Not looking at her, Guy motioned to Isabella to join him, attempting to rein in his fury and not doing a very good job of it. "Sir Roger had two children." He thrust two, long fingers upward into the man's face. "I know where they are," he hissed through his teeth. "Believe me, they will claim it."

Longthorn wilted, his eyes widening when Guy's sister joined him at his side. It finally dawned on him who he was really talking to. "Mercy. Have mercy on me, my lord. Had I known-"

"Shut it." It was spat between clenched teeth. He turned to Longthorn's accuser. "Why did you hold on to such a pittance for so long? What were you promised?"

"My Lord Sheriff-"

"Sheriff Vaisey has been called away. I am his first in command and second in rank to Nottingham, Sir Guy of Gisborne," he turned to stare at Longthorn, who was now visibly shaking. "the sheriff's Leftenant and this is my sister, Isabella." He held her firmly by the elbow. "I have been allotted all legal authority." He turned to Longthorn's accuser. "What is your name?" 

"James, sir. James Tanner."

"Might I ask why your family safeguarded such a pittance of wealth, for so long and then chased a disgraced human being down for it? What boon were you offered?"

"No payment, my lord. My mother nearly bled to death when she birthed me. Lady Ghislaine saved her life and mine, so I am told." Guy watched as the man twisted his hat nervously in front of him. "My parents always spoke highly of the kindness of the Lady of Gisborne and the bravery of her husband. We are beholding to the family, Sir Guy."

Guy motioned to one of his personal guards. "Go with this man to retrieve the things he says are mine and take them to Locksley. Before you leave to return to Lincoln, I will reward you for your perseverance." 

_This feels odd. How often do I reward anyone?_

He turned his full fury on the man in front of him. How long had he dreamed of this, plotted it? It felt almost as satisfying as being granted Locksley.

"My Lord. Please have mercy."

"Oh, I will show mercy today," Guy's voice was a whisper. "Great mercy indeed." The man started to sigh in relief. "I will show you the same mercy you showed two innocent children, newly orphaned, when you dispossessed them and threw them from their home, when you had no right to do so."

_'You're no longer welcome anywhere near **my** lands...'_

"I will show you the same mercy when you attempted to hang an innocent boy for a crime he did not commit, and then tried to blame your poor judgment on the people of the town, who were no more than ignorant sheep! I will show you the same mercy you showed when you ignored the orders of the Lord who was more powerful than you and when you attacked and attempted to kill an honored Crusader of the Holy Lands. It is a mercy to sentence you to death and minstrels will sing while you dance at the end of the hangman's noose tomorrow." Still holding Isabella by the elbow, he turned to those left that had come before him for crimes committed. "The rest of you are pardoned and free. I best not see you in this hall again. That is my mercy." With a jerk of her elbow, Guy left the Hall, taking his sister with him.

Hearing the doors shut behind them, he dragged her down the hallway, still angry, still furious. Within a few moments, Isabella began to tug from his grasp. "Turn me loose!" 

He did so but not before pulling her into an alcove and slinging her against the wall. "I saw you fingering your knife. Did you think so little of me that I would let him go?" Isabella narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth to answer. "I knew who he was when he said his name. He was a dead man walking at that very moment." Once she realized he meant what he said, she relaxed and Guy softened his stance a bit. "Would you have me select some pieces for you from the chest or the plate?"

She shook her head, focusing on the lit sconce behind him. "No. It would conjure bad memories." Absent-mindedly, she fingered the neck of her dress. "Actually, there is one thing if it is there."

Guy immediately knew what it was Isabella desired. "Our mother's locket."

Isabella's look was far away. "Aye. If it's in the casket. 'Tis all I wish. The rest is yours... brother." With that, she turned and stalked off, her skirts and sleeves flying behind her.

_**~~~…~~~** _

Genevieve was not in a much better mood herself.

 _Da shit done gone hit da fan._  
  
Guy had been most unhappy when he left, she was unhappy he left and so much for naked swing from the chandelier monkey sex that both had planned for the day. He growled at her getting dressed, growled at her when he left.

And now Fiona was growling at her. Apparently, it was gravely frowned upon to sleep with your benefactor if you weren’t married or something. There was so much growling and snapping, Genevieve openly remarked that obviously someone needed to let the dogs out.

No one got the joke, but her and she wasn't laughing. 

Genevieve had eaten a bit of cheese and some fruit and retreated to Guy’s room with her iPad and the notepad, which she found on her bed, underneath a quilt. She didn’t want to read; was actually a bit fed up with the last book she had read – the lead female character was insipid and annoying and she didn’t see what the broody knight saw in her. 

Besides her heaving bosoms, that is. Which were conveniently falling out of the top of her bliant or bliaut or whatever it was called. Or thrusting them in his face all through dinner. And fainting a lot. How boring.

She had been putting it off, working on the contract; simply rehashing and toying with information she already knew. Genevieve knew she couldn’t stay here indefinitely. 

Although the thought was tempting. Guy could be quite… pleasant when he wanted to be. 

Genevieve sank into the chair – the same chair Guy had slung her legs over and dined at the Y like he was born to, giving her a reason to want to stay naked, want to do this again and again and again. 

She opened up the contract and tabbed to where she and Guy had left off. 

“Lady Genevieve?” 

Startled, Genevieve pulled the iPad to the side, under the notepad. “Yes, Thornton?”

“I forgot to mention,” the man did not come into the room. “Sir Guy said he would send the dressmaker today or tomorrow. Madame Isandra.”

Genevieve’s brow furrowed. “Isandra? More clothes? Why?” 

“Apparently, there is to be a faire in Nottingham in a few weeks and he… wishes…”

_A faire? A real medieval faire?_ “Wishes what?”

A small smile graced the man’s face. “He wishes for you to outshine every woman there. Including his sister.”

Genevieve's heart stopped and melted. “When did he mention this?” 

“When he left earlier.” Thornton ducked his head, apologetically. “I do not believe he intended to leave you this day.” 

“Perhaps this is his way of apologizing?”

“Perhaps.”

Now, she was in a quandary. Continue working on the contract until Isandra got there or sketch out some more dresses… but what kind of dresses, what kind of material? She decided to wait to design until the woman got there. Hopefully, she still had her measurements. 

So opening the window and pulling back the shutters, she pulled the table near so she could see out and then bent over the iPad and the notebook and began to transcribe. 

Three hours later, she was in tears. 

_Seller shall pay out accounts created and set aside for retirement funds…_

_Fucker. Damn fucker._ Not only was she to give him the stock in the retirement packages, rather than roll them over into the new retirement funds with their firm, where they could continue to grow and produce dividends, she was to pay out the retirement packages herself. To be cashed out immediately! This was rather stupid, to be honest. Why pay out…

She slammed the notepad shut and threw her pencil across the room, where it skittered into that 12th century excuse for a bathroom. In internalized fury, she slung both feet up on the table and crossed her arms, her chin dug deep into her chest, trying to stifle the sob threatening to escape in a primeval scream. 

How long she sat there, feet propped up on the table, arms over her torso, staring into the bathroom, she didn't know. It wasn't until a gentle, if calloused finger brushed the tears from her cheek that she realized it was getting late and she had been sitting motionless for sometime. 

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't hear you come in." 

Guy looked as haggard as she felt. If this is what good sex did for a person, maybe they needed to leave off. "Why are you crying?" 

Without a word, she handed him the iPad, knowing he would read and understand the formal jargon far easier and more fluently than her scrawling and rudely worded notes. He stared at the electronic page for a time, shaking his head, before pressing the power switch off and laying it back down. "I think," Guy whispered, "that you should tell your time to get off and stay with me." 

"Right now," she used the heel of her hand to brush the tears from the other side of her face away, "I'm leaning that way." Genevieve set her feet on the floor and looked up to see his hand in front of her. 

"Go put on your outlandish trousers and my shirt." Guy's smile was grim, but it was an obvious attempt to attain a rare bit of humor. "We should go for a ride. You need," he grabbed her hands and pulled her to her feet, "some air and mindless female chatter will do you good."

"Oh and what do you know of mindless, female chatter?" 

Now the smile was genuine. "I had a sister." 

Genevieve's smile faltered. _Had. That was telling._ "Give me a minute. I won't be long." With a dip of her head, she almost ran from the room, taking her things with her. 

Guy watched her go across the hall before smirking and looking up into the rafters. "I thought I told you not to lie to me."

_**~~~...~~~** _

True to her promise, Genevieve was only a few minutes. She passed Guy's room, seeing her pencil retrieved and placed on the table, but no Guy. Hearing voices, she went to the landing to see him taking a moderate sized casket from a man dressed a bit better than a peasant. Twice, Guy attempted to give the man small purse of apparently coins, and both times the man rebuffed him. It was not an angry or tense exchange, but it was clear Guy was disturbed that the man refused payment. After a few minutes, the man left and Guy set the strongbox on the table. He stared at it for a short time, his finger stroking the latches, his desire to open it and inspect whatever was in it obvious.

"Genevieve, do not stand in the shadows." He looked over his shoulder. "Someone more suspicious than I might think you are up to something." 

Feeling abashed, she trod slowly down the stairs, her fingertips grazing along the rough hewn banister. "I didn't hear anything, but I can tell you're upset." She nodded towards the chest. "Taxes? Hood's booty?" 

"Booty?" 

Genevieve dropped her head. "His gold, the stuff he's stolen." 

Guy blinked several times. "No. It..." his voice trailed off as he thought twice about telling her. "I need to put this away. Go saddle Zeus and bring him in front of the hall with my destrier." With that, he picked up the trunk and headed up the stairs with it. 

Feeling dismissed, Genevieve did as he asked her to do, noticing the new and unusual saddle, bridle, and saddle blanket hanging in the tack room. Her mind continued to churn while she saddled Zeus up, who was antsy and welcoming the upcoming exercise. 

In short, she wondered where she and Guy stood. Was she a one night stand, was this a temporary fling...

_Of course it's a temporary fling! What are the chances of you being allowed to stay?_

And this bothered her to no end. She worried about her company, her employees, and now she worried about where she stood with this broody dark knight and coming to the terrifying conclusion that she wanted him and his mood-swings in her life.

Double checking her cinches and ties, she led the horse from the stable and mounting up, trotted out next to Guy, where he waited. On his nod, she followed him through the town, taking note of everyone out watching the two of them curiously before they went down the road and into the forest.

The ground was muddy from the previous night's rain, and a promise of more in the air. It was quiet, neither one of them speaking. It was if an invisible wall had been erected between them. The silence upset Genevieve and irritated Guy. 

"Guy-"

"Genevieve-"

Both snorted, along with their horses. Guy pulled in closer to her, so his leg brushed hers. "I am sorry about today. I wish to have spent it in bed with you." 

That was the one thing Genevieve needed to hear. "You had a rough day, didn't you?" 

"Aye, and tomorrow will be worse." 

Genevieve's heart fell. "I had hoped you would..." she bobbed her head. 

"Stay home with you?" He took her hand when he saw her nod. "I am tempted, but I must be present when I carry out the sentence." 

Genevieve's stomach clenched. "Sentence? What sentence?" 

"A man was brought before me, accused of unspeakable crimes. As the crimes concerned were committed against someone here in Nottingham, I was asked to listen and pass judgment." 

The two continued to meander slowly down the path. "Obviously, you found him guilty. What was he accused of and what did you sentence him to?" 

Guy was silent for so long, Genevieve thought he was not going to answer. She contented herself with enjoying the cool breeze, the vibrant colors of the trees. 

"Theft. I sentenced him to hang tomorrow." 

"Hang? For theft?" Genevieve was horrified. "That's a bit... harsh, isn't it Guy?" 

She watched his jaw clench, was appalled at how quickly his mood soured. "He robbed children, orphans, Genevieve. Robbed them of their property, their land, their title. He evicted them with nowhere to go so he could take it for himself!" 

"And you know this for a fact, beyond a shadow-"

"He took it from me, Genevieve!" It was guttural, pained, and it came from nowhere, suddenly, causing Genevieve and Zeus to stop in their tracks and back up. "Twenty years ago, he took what was mine! My parents died in a fire and he dispossessed me and Isabella before the smoke settled!" Never had Genevieve seen him so angry, not even when she had been accosted by Hood. "I was fourteen! He told me to get off of his land and never come back! He had no right to do it, but I could not fight him or challenge him for it, because I did not have the strength or the power." His chin pulled into his chest, eyes glittering like ice. "I will never be weak again." He pulled away from her and began to move on. 

The outpouring of anger and grief floored her. "I'm sorry, Guy."

"I do not wish to speak of it." 

Having no choice, she followed him in silence, head down. "What would you rather speak of?" 

"Something... happy." Again, his mood swung painfully from one extreme to the other. He stopped, waiting for her to catch up. "Do you know what makes me happy?" 

"What?" 

The knight held up his ring and middle finger. "Knowing all of your pleasure lies in the palm of my hand, in the tips of my fingers," he leered. Genevieve snorted at that and started to pass him up, before he reached out and grabbed Zeus' bridle. "Why did you lie to me?" 

Genevieve's eyes darted about. "About what?" 

Now he looked totally put out. "About what. Do not be coy. About last night. About-"

"About not having an orgasm," Genevieve whispered. "That's what you're asking about." 

"My lady, I learn new words every day in your company." He began to circle her. "Orgasm. Fuck. Adult toys." 

She had a sinking suspicion that this conversation was going to come about. "Which term confuses you most?" 

He stopped on the other side of her, facing in the opposite direction. His leg pressed against hers and he reached over and took the reins. "Fuck. You said that quite a bit last night." 

Genevieve could feel her neck heating up. "It's a rather crass and earthy way to demand sex." 

It was quiet for a moment while Guy digested that bit of information. "Is there any tenderness or sweetness in it?" 

Genevieve found this question odd. "No. Not usually." 

"I do not like the word," he decreed. "Do not use it again, unless I tell you to." He thought for a moment. "In fact, I do not like it when you use gutter language at all. You will stop unless I tell you otherwise."

"Yes sir." 

He raised a finger. "Again." 

"Yes, Sir." 

He smirked at that, obviously pleased with something. "Orgasm." 

Genevieve was now squirming. "I believe your term for an orgasm is release or pleasure." 

The finger was still up and twirling in a lazy circle. "Ah. That which you lied to me about." His grip on the reins tightened, the sound of the leather creaking. "Why did you lie to me?" 

She exhaled. "Honestly?" 

Oh, this was a game he was not going to play. "No, Genevieve. Lie to me. Lie to me about why you lied to me." He was scowling now. "And why do you blush? We have been intimate; we will be intimate again. Tonight, in fact. Considering the level of intimacy we explored and achieved last night, there is no reason for you to be shy." 

"Well, it wasn't that I was trying to lie-"

"Genevieve! You lied to me. You specifically stated that you had found release, when you had not." 

"That's true because men have fragile egos and take it personally!" Genevieve spat. "They act like their manhood has been threatened when ninety percent of the time they didn't take the time to... to..." she bit her tongue. 

"Did not take the time to what?" 

She looked up, completely mortified. "Didn't take the time I needed." Her voice dropped. "It takes me a while usually. It's a lot of work. Most men don't have the patience." 

The knight leaned forward, his face scant inches from hers. The scent of leather was almost over-powering. "I have great patience, my lady." He sat back in his saddle, perusing her form. "So you would compare me to these other men with no patience and not a care in the world if you have an... orgasm... or not." He continued to grasp her reins so she could not move away from him.

"Truth be told," Genevieve answered glibly, "I find that you are like no man I have ever met before."

The knight smirked, obviously full of himself. "How so, or are you lying to me again?"

"That is very true," she smiled back, before jerking her reins from his hand. "You are positively medieval! A Neanderthal to the nth degree." And with that, she moved on down the path.

Guy jerked, trying to process the information before turning and following her. "Wait! Medieval? Neanderthal? Nth? What are these words? Stop!"

Strangely enough, she did stop. "Actually, medieval is too advanced a term. You are positively a 12th Century Knight, with all the mindset of a Neanderthal."

"There!" He pointed a leather-clad finger at her. "You said that word again."

"Yes," the smile was humorous. "A Neanderthal. Back in the days when men lived in caves and drew on the walls and had no couth, whatsoever."

Guy took offense at this. "Couth? I have couth." His brow furrowed. "I think I have couth," he whispered. "What is 'couth'?"

"Yes," she laughed, "you have some couth. I suspect you can be cleaned up and taken out in public, sometimes." Her grin told him she was teasing.

"You work too hard for your orgasm." It was blurted and it caught Genevieve off guard. "Aha!" Again, the finger pointed. "You did not see that one coming."

Her jaw was flapping and it took a minute before she was capable of speech.

"Do not lie to me. I will know it. You work much too hard to achieve it."

This man, as chauvinistic as one could get in this male-driven and dominated society, was tearing her walls down with every breath. And the strange thing was Genevieve was reveling in it. "You're right. I do work hard for it. And to be honest, most times, it's not worth the effort. Most of the time, it's like... phfft." She waved her hand to make the point; quick, shallow and gone like a puff of air.

This seemed to take the man aback. He demanded truthfulness; he was getting it with all the candor she had and it dawned on him that this openness was a gift that he needed to cherish and not abuse.

"Truth is, as I said last night, I want to make sure my partner is completely fulfilled. It hasn't been often my partner cared if I was or not." She sighed heavily, not realizing that Guy was paying close attention. "Usually, my needs are secondary, even to me."

"That is unfair to you."

"There is a joke women tell each other, Guy. Women will fake an orgasm to have a relationship. Men will fake a relationship to have an orgasm." Genevieve shrugged. "A relationship is not about the orgasm, Guy. The relationship is about love and trust and commitment. It's about helping your partner become the best person they can be, by supporting them, loving them, helping them if they need it. It's about listening to them, giving them advice if they want it." She looked up into the trees, looking for God knows what. "It's about being there for your partner, your loved one."

"That is a nice sentiment, Genevieve. There is just one flaw in it."

"What's that?"

"If you give and give and give and never receive, you will become dissatisfied and look elsewhere for that satisfaction. If you do not receive such, and chose not to stray, you will suffer great despair." No sooner than the words were out of his mouth, it dawned on him that was what his relationship with Marian had been; a one-sided giving relationship, where he had received nothing, save a kiss, which was probably given to him to save Robin yet again, and heaped tons of humiliation at the hands of the sheriff.

Genevieve was also reflecting on his words. Her relationship with Lamar had been anything but two-sided. She had given until she couldn't give anymore. Before she could think further, Guy continued.

"Which is why you have toys, because you were not receiving pleasure or satisfaction, so you decided to take matters into your own hands."

Genevieve blinked. "For a chauvinistic caveman, you are rather shrewd."

Guy stared her through, making her fidget. "I am not stupid, Genevieve. Regardless of what the Sheriff thinks, or my sister, I understand more than they believe." He sniffed disdainfully. "At least Prince John sees it."

"I believe that's what I said."

In silence, the two ambled along, both thinking about what the other had said. Genevieve was having a time trying to digest the knowledge that the man beside her, who made love to her so thoroughly, had easily sentenced a man to death, a sentence he intended to carry out as soon as possible and watch. It was vengeance, pure and simple and while on one plane, she understood, it still seemed...

_Ah, but don't forget, chickiepoo, he's tried to kill the king._

"What happened to your arm?"

"I burned it."

"Oh. Accident?"

That glorious nose flared. "No. I received a tattoo in the stupidity of my youth, an identifying mark of my family and house emblem. It became... too recognizable." 

Genevieve took a moment to reflect on that. _I suspect that means someone saw it and would be able to identify you. Small wonder you desire to take what you can and move away and become a lush._

"Your toys." His return to the previous subject brought her back to the present moment. "I would like to watch you... play with them." He turned to look at her, a half smile, smirk on his face. "Actually, that is not true. I think I will use them on you."

"Uhm... uh well," she stammered, "you were quite thorough last night and uhm... I don't think we need... well we need them."

"Nonsense." Oh, he was quite jovial. "You have needs, even if you chose to ignore them. You obtained them for a reason and by your own admission, you pay no attention to your own pleasure and when you do achieve release, 'tis nothing to sing about. Although," he wagged a finger, "I believe last night, it was more than just a... phfft." He leaned towards her. "In fact, I believe you sang and I desire to hear you sing again. If you are going to ensure my pleasure, I must work equally hard to ensure yours." He tilted his head sideways, "So, you must tell me what you like."

This was uncomfortable, extremely uncomfortable, but Genevieve was taking great delight in his attention. "I liked what you did last night. Very much."

"Go on. Surely there is more that you wish? Think about?"

"Think about?" she squeaked.

_Oh dear God! VAL! This man wants to know my fantasies... EEEEEEP!!!!!_

"Yes. Surely, there are things you wish to explore." Guy saw she was blushing, a deep red all the way to her roots and this amused him. Again he stopped, reaching for her reins. "Genevieve. I told you last night I wanted to be your last desire. I meant it. I want to know your every yearning." Again, he pulled her closer. "I intend to fulfill them." The desire to pull her from the stallion and into his lap was over-whelming. "Every, single, one of them." He allowed his words to sink in. "Now, about your desires?"

It was quiet for some minutes.

"Genevieve-"

"I'm thinking!"

The knight rolled his eyes. "Yes, I see. 'Tis painful to watch."

"Right now, my fantasy is to skewer you!"

Guy shook his head and smirked. "Skewer. To put things on a long stick. I skewer you. Try again."

It occurred to her to side-step, refuse to answer, but she knew he was rather... determined.

And he had given her the best orgasm ever.

He hadn't rolled over and gone to sleep. He hadn't sent her to her room, gotten her up early to go to her room. He knew she... hadn't... and made sure she... did...

And he _had_ snuggled and cuddled her up all night.

"I like a firm hand." One eyebrow went up. "Not abuse or a beating that is so not cool-"

"You would not like being bruised or harmed."

_Oh, thank God he gets it._

"Absolutely not!"

Guy was nodding to himself. "You prefer a confident touch." He looked up at her, from under hooded, smoldering eyes. "You have a need to relinquish control and to do that you must trust me to see to your needs." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Do you trust me, Genevieve?"

She dipped her head. "Yes."

He dropped her reins back onto her saddle and clicked his tongue, urging his horse forward. "Good. Rather than watch you use them, I shall use your toys on you."

Genevieve began to laugh. "It can get pretty intense. I'll probably jump or bounce all over the bed."

Guy's good humor was returning, his duties that weighed on him in Nottingham fading to the back of his brain. "Perhaps I should tie you down or tie you up."

"Don't make promises you don't intend to keep."

"Ooooh." He wagged a finger. "I shall find scarves. Or use your fuzzy manacles. That _is_ what they are for, correct?" He chortled at her mock-furious look. "Trust me." He continued on, thoughts now pouring unchecked. "What do you like? Dislike?"

She started to tell him she didn't like cum on her face, but then she figured they'd have a merry-go-round trying to define 'cum'. "There is a town ahead." Sure enough, there was a clearing visible a ways down the path, noise and people clearly seen.

"Clun. What do you like?" He was not going to be deterred, although a part of his attention was starting to focus on the people he could see in the town. From this distance, they appeared to be... agitated.

Genevieve was not aware all of Guy's attention was not fully on her. She was busy looking into the trees, unbelieving that she was going to admit to this. "I want to wear you. I want to taste you."

Guy's attention was now almost completely fixated on the town coming closer. There was definitely something happening. He nudged his horse a bit faster. Unthinking, he murmured, "I wonder if you swallow? That would make you quite the little whore, would it not?" He immediately squeezed his eyes, wanting to smack himself. "Genevieve, I did not mean it like that." He turned to look over his shoulder, where she sat, stunned in disbelief.

"I am NOT a whore," she spat. "Never that! I do what I like, what I enjoy. If you wish to call me your baby girl, your little, your slut, your... fuck toy, or your whore in private between us, that's one thing. But you will NOT call me that in public or use it as an insult! I will leave your fine, leather-clad ass!"

He grabbed her bridle before she could trot off. "I am sorry. It was poorly worded. My attention was elsewhere. Please." She stared at him for some time before she jutted her chin at his hand, causing him to turn loose.

"There seems to be some excitement in Clun, Sir Guy." He couldn't tell if she was deferring to him or mocking him and it bothered him. "Perhaps you should attend to it?" With that, she put her heels to Zeus and cantered forward.

Guy knew the conversation wasn't over and he wasn't sure he was willing to crawl or beg her forgiveness. Either way, he pressed forward and soon caught up with her.

The two rode into Clun where it appeared all hell had broken loose.

_**~~~...~~~** _

_**Not just a suggestion** _

_**~~~...~~~** _

  
[](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/ZeeDippyVessel/media/Fic%20Artwork/wheelwrightenidandgelrad_zpsc27e7945.jpg.html) ****  


  
__  


Wheelwright


	17. 16 ... it is not...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N - I want to wish all who celebrate a very Happy Thanksgiving. Be thankful for what you have... it's more than you think!

_**Manna from Heaven** _

_**Chapter 16** _

**_... it is not..._ **

Clun was, for lack of a better term, a hot bed of activity. A crowd of people were at the village's center, surrounding a group of battling women, two women, to be precise. At least to Genevieve it sounded like two women screaming at the top of their lungs. From the distance, she couldn't understand a word and she didn't think Guy could either.

Guy's face was unreadable. Unlike with Genevieve, where his every emotion was immediately written on his face, at this point, it was schooled, completely devoid of emotion. If anything, there was an appearance of slight boredom of what was going on. No one seemed to notice that Sir Guy or his guest were suddenly in attendance. 

As they drew closer, Genevieve took in the surroundings. The hamlet was laid out similarly to Locksley, save there was no pond in the middle of the square. There was a wellspring, in addition to several stalls. One appeared to be knocked over. 

Still unobserved, the knight dismounted next to a long railing on the far side of the square, nodding for Genevieve to do the same and putting his fingers to his lips. For the first time, he didn't aid in her dismounting, instead ignoring her and moving with panther-like grace towards the group. 

"Yer brat needs a beatin'! In fact, I'll be givin' it t'im!" 

"No, yew'll not lay a finger on 'im! 'e didn' do nuttin'-"

"Coverin' fer 'im agin! 'e's a thief! I caught 'im, red-handed!" 

"Yer blind as a bat! Y'caught nuttin'!" 

A young girl, about age five caught sight of Genevieve in her tight jeans and Guy's over-sized tunic. She began to pull on her mother's sleeve. "Mama?" She then caught sight of Guy and with her eyes broadened in fear and horror, began to pull harder. "Mamaaaaaa..."

"Hush, child!" the woman whispered. "I'm tryin' to hear." Seeing that her child was pointing, she looked up to see Genevieve approaching the crowd wide-eyed. She elbowed her friend next to her.

That woman leaned over. "I hope someone jerks a knot in his tail this time!" She nodded and began to raise her eyes. "Last spring, he knocked over my stall and bro-o-o-kkkke.... what is that?" She nodded to Genevieve.

The little girl's mother was looking around desperately and hissed, ""Twould be my guess that's Sir Guy's new woman. That means-"

"Her guard is here or... oh, sweet Jesu. Sir Guy." 

A sudden pall fell over the crowd as they saw the tall Black Knight make his way through the crowd, a black gaze on his face. The two women were still going at it, one determined to punish, the other determined to protect. Neither saw the man until it was too late. 

"Timmy. Why am I not surprised?" 

Although the voice was low and soft-spoken, both women immediately stopped their bickering, one bowing up, ready to unleash another tirade, the other pulling the boy, who seemed to be around the age of ten or eleven, behind her. "'Tis naught, Sir Guy," she smiled weakly. "Jus' a misunnerstandin', 'tis all." She glared at her son's accuser. "Nothin' we can't figure out 'tween ourselves."

Guy's smile was not pleasant. He turned to the other woman. "Sarah?" Everyone watched the woman draw up to launch into another tirade. Guy held one gloved hand up. "No need to yell. I am right here." The woman - Sarah - was now red in the face.

"Me girl made me a pretty!" Guy strained, trying to remember the woman's daughter. Thinking he might be thinking about how much worth the trinket had, Sarah added, "She polished a stone she found by the river bank and her husband threaded it on to a leather thong." She lowered her voice. "'Tweren't really worth any crowns."

Things clicked in Guy's mind. _'Tis right. Her daughter married a jeweler of sorts and moved to Derby_." He raised an eyebrow and spun his hand. "And?" 

Sarah pointed at Timmy, who was standing defiantly behind his mother. "I were showin' it ter Amys," another woman nodded affirmatively, "when she asked me 'bout me raw honey. I set it t'the side t'pick up the basket, when that little brat-" Timmy's mother started wailing at that, causing Sarah to raise her voice, "tried t'sneak it off the table. When I yelled, 'e took off runnin'!" 

"Was it still in his hands?" 

"Aye, it were!" 

"Don't have it!" Timmy finally spoke up, both hands out and glaring at the woman. "I don't!" 

"Aye, yew threw it when yew knocked over Margaret's stall!" 

"No, I didn't!" 

"Aye, yew did! I saw yew!" 

"Yer a blind ole biddy..."

The two women and now child all began to yell again, Guy watching in growing fury. Glaring at Genevieve, he jerked his head towards the ruined stall, baskets of something scattered about. Genevieve took it as a request to inspect the area, as everyone was so involved listening to the two women go at it like machine guns. The screaming escalated - apparently Margaret, whose stall had been knocked over - had now joined in the ruckus. 

Genevieve didn't think Timmy was going to get off so easy. She searched the remnants of the stall, baked goods, scattered haphazardly. She cringed at that. She recalled when her grandmother baked and she was looking at hours... days worth of work, scattered in the dirt. She began to work outwards. _How far can one fling a... pretty? A stone on a rawhide cord..._

Guy's outraged roar - "One at a time!" - cut through the din amongst the women silent just about the time Genevieve spotted it in the dirt, the leather thong peaking from beneath a destroyed basket. Plucking it from the dirt, Genevieve raised the crude necklace, admiring the work that had gone into polishing the stone. There was nothing remarkable about it, save someone worked hard cleaning the rock, bringing out shades of polished black and dark, reddish hues. Clutching the stone and animal hide string, Genevieve made her way back to the crowd and began to work her way through. 

"'e ran directly into my table, Sir Guy!" Margaret's voice was an understandable peevish whine. "Destroyed a week of hard work and baking. Don't rightly think I can sell much o' nothing now!" 

Genevieve found her way to the middle of the crowd. She held up the crude necklace. "Does this belong to anyone?" 

Sarah exclaimed in relief, but before she could snatch it from Genevieve's hand, Guy reached over and took it. He held it up, inspecting it as if looking for mites. "This?" He curled his lip. "This was what he took?" He looked in disgust at Timmy, who shrank just a little bit. If nothing else, he was finally quiet. "You caused all of this ruckus for this?" The boy bit his lips, the line, thin and white. "Ah, now cat has got your tongue." He leaned over, in order to look eye to eye with the child, the glower as evil as any Genevieve had seen. Timmy's mother tried to pull him behind her, but Guy whipped out his other hand and grabbed the child by the shoulder, pulling him literally, back into the fray. "I know of ways to make you talk. Or," he continued with a sinister whisper, "making sure you never talk or take something that is not yours again." 

Genevieve did not hear what he said, but she could tell by the sudden pale look of both the child and his mother, it didn't bode well for the little boy. "Guy?" 

"Lady Genevieve," the man did not look at her, instead keeping eye contact with the adolescent, "thank you for finding Sarah's necklace." He held his hand out, the bauble dangling in the slight breeze, Sarah grabbing the necklace from him. Without a second thought, she put it around her neck and lovingly placed the stone between her breasts. Regardless of its worth or worthlessness, it meant something to her. 

Guy watched dispassionately beneath hooded eyes as Sarah carefully stroked the stone, as if to ensure it wasn't scratched or damaged, before addressing his guest. "Is anything from Margaret's stall salvageable?" 

Genevieve blinked her eyes at the sudden darkness in him before she shook her head. "It's baked goods, most of it in the dirt. There might be a few things still inside the baskets but..." she shrugged. "I think Timmy here should be made to help her bake-"

 

"Do not interfere." 

His tone brought her up. His voice was unemotional, flat, but when she looked at him, she could see fury behind the thin veneer of his smirk. 

"Guy-"

"Sir Guy," Margaret chose this moment to speak over Genevieve, "this inn't t'first time 'e's knocked over my stall." She was now glowering at the ever shrinking child. "An' I'm no the only one whose stall 'e's knocked over in t'past!" 

Guy turned his full attention back to the youngster. "Timmy, did you take Sarah's necklace?" His mother started to speak up, but the knight put a finger to her mouth. "If you speak, you will not like it. Timmy?" 

He bit his lips in tighter. 

"I can loosen your tongue." 

"GUY!" Genevieve's voice raised over the protests of Timmy's mother. "He's a child!" 

"He is a thief!" Guy corrected. "And Timmy knows the Sheriff's laws and consequences when a thief is caught." The child's mother began to wail, even Sarah turned white. 

Genevieve pushed her way through the small throng between her and Guy. "Well, I don't, but I know how _you_ treat thieves and I do not think what this child has done is deserving of the fate of the man you sentenced to die tomorrow!" 

All of Guy's clenched fury was now focused on the woman he had made such tender love to the night before. The fact she would dare contradict him here, at this time, in front of people, made him harden his resolve. "I believe I told you not to interfere."

**"HAS THE BUTTER DONE GONE SLIPPED OFF YOUR CORNBREAD? HE'S A CHILD!!!"**

Even though he had no idea what the first part of what she said meant, Guy didn't think it was very nice and, in fact, was most likely quite demeaning. Not loosening his grip on the boy, Guy searched over the heads of the townspeople, finally seeing what, or specifically _'who_ ' he wanted to see. "Donald!" He yelled to a still armored guard who had just arrived from his duty. "Please escort Lady Genevieve back to Locksley, post haste." He looked down to his elbow, where Genevieve had gently taken hold of it.

"Guy. Please. Don't do this." She licked her lips. _Ah, now she will plead and cajole._ "Surely there is a better-"

The look on the knight's face was set in stone. "You will not meddle in matters that do not concern you." He leaned down and hissed, "Do not attempt to interfere with me and my duties. Go home." Her look of horror and the fact she took a step back, away from him, resonated within him. He wanted to tell her that he would explain what he intended to do later, to trust him, but her hands dropped and she was pulled backwards into the crowd, all of whom just moments before were screaming for justice, now were begging for mercy for the brat. 

_Justice... mercy... they should make up their minds..._

He watched as she jerked her arm from Donald's grip and marched towards her mount. He returned his attention back to the little miscreant, only to hear her bellow.

"I DON'T NEED YOUR HELP!" Genevieve's voice rose above the din, Guy looking up to see her mounting up on her horse. "I CAN DAMN WELL FIND MY OWN WAY!" With that, she spun Zeus around and took off the way they came. 

Donald looked at Guy with his palms up, asking what to do next. "Bring me the rope from my saddle and then follow her." The guard quickly retrieved the braided hemp. As he handed it to Guy, the Sheriff's left hand nodded towards the path, dust still in the air, "Make sure she stays put once she reaches Locksley. Tell Joffrey and my steward to keep an eye on her." He began to tie Timmy's hands together, much to the boy and his mother's distress. "Tell them to not hold dinner." He watched as the guard left before pulling the boy behind him towards his horse. "We are going to go for a walk and have a long chat, just you and I, Timmy. Keep up or I will drag you." He began to lash the free end of the rope around his saddle horn. "I do not know when you will be back or if you will be back. That, of course, is up to you." He then turned and crooked his finger to Timmy's mother, who was completely breaking down. It took several people to help her over towards Guy's horse. "You may come to Nottingham tomorrow morning to retrieve your son." This stopped the wailing for a moment. "There will be entertainment," he grinned evilly down at the child, hoping he was scaring the shite out of the little blighter. 

What Genevieve said earlier about the morning hanging, and Guy's reference to morning entertainment, hit Timmy's mother with a force no one expected. Guy mounted up and slowly left the settlement, deliberately taking a different path then Genevieve had taken, one that did not go through Sherwood Forest. 

Twice, the boy dug his heels in, yanking backwards, as if to attempt to slow or stop Guy's stallion, or perhaps even yank the rope lose from Guy's saddle, but he quickly realized it was a losing battle. As the two went down the path, the world became silent, the only sound the clopping of the horse's hooves and Timmy sniffling. 

"'Tis a nice day, if cool." Guy's voice jovially broke the silence. "Although, I think it might rain tonight." He gave a fake shiver. "We might even have frost."

Timmy whimpered.

"Do you know how the Sheriff punishes thieves?" He waited for the answer that the knight knew would not come. "Ah, Timmy. Do not make me talk to myself all the way to Nottingham! It would make me look like a complete buffoon. And it would be so boring!" Despite his outward veneer of good-humor, Guy was in no mood to banter with the boy. He kicked the speed up a notch, forcing the child to run a short ways. After a minute or two, he slowed back down and repeated the question. Again, there was no response, so Guy repeated the exercise, longer this time. 

"Sir Guy, Sir Guy," he finally cried out. "'e cuts off their hand. Please." 

Guy stopped and looked behind him. Timmy was red in the face, breathing hard. "Very good, Timmy. He does do that. He cuts off their hand. What happens if a thief continues to steal?" 

Timmy stubbed his toe in the mud, his bottom lip quivering. "'e 'angs 'em." 

"That is correct. Sometimes, he hangs them the first time, if the crime is heinous enough, such as stealing from The Crown - King Richard or Prince John. You know, taxes." 

Now tears were rolling down the boy's cheeks. "It were just a rock, is all. Nuttin' fancy. I jus' wanned t'look! See 'ow it were made. Maybe make me mum one. I'm sorry. I really am. I'll never do i' again." 

Guy took a moment to mull the child's confession over, before nodding. "Apology accepted." 

Timmy breathed in deep, relief on his face. He lifted his bound hands, a hopeful look on his face. "Can I go 'ome now?" 

"No. Keep up."

_**~~~...~~~** _

Genevieve rode into Locksley, the guard - her guard, that Guy sent to... do what? - close behind. In the mad dash back, she contemplated leaving Guy, leaving Locksley. Her bag was mostly packed; it wouldn't take but a few minutes to cram a few dresses into it. She hadn't seen her vibrator or her fuzzy handcuffs since she arrived and at this point, he could have the damn things.

He could shove the vibe up his ass, for all she cared. 

Thing was, she didn't know where to go. She remembered Guy mentioning a convent - Ripley's? - last night. More than likely, she could ask someone, but they would probably tell that black-hearted bastard where she was going. 

She was terrified she'd end up in the middle of Nottingham. That wouldn't work. 

And she sounded funny to them. 

They sounded funny to her. 

By the time she reached Locksley and the barn, she decided what she really wanted was a knock-down, screaming match with that man! Terrifying a child! A CHILD! For what purpose? Yes, he stole something; his mother should bust his butt. She remembered at age five being sent outside to bring in a switch because she had stolen a candy bar from the gas station! After her grandmother made her take her own money and go back and pay for it, she sent her out to find a switch. Some might think it mean, but Genevieve never thought of stealing anything ever again in her life! 

Quickly, she unsaddled Zeus, who could tell something was wrong. She rubbed him and brushed him down, tossing him an apple from the barrel. As she left the barn, people moved out of her way, went the opposite direction but she didn't notice, so deep was she in her own fury. She stormed into the hall, to see That Goon, Joffrey, and Thornton, with their heads together. The goon dipped his head to her, before scurrying out the door. 

"Lady Genevieve." Thornton spoke as if nothing were amiss. She envied him for that inner calm collectiveness and wanted to smack him for it at the same time. "We have been informed that we are not to wait dinner on Sir Guy. If you wish, dinner will be served in a little bit." 

Genevieve stood in the room, looking over it dispassionately. The temperature was cooling outside, but Genevieve's mood was about as frosty as one could get. The chill in the room was immense. She made much of pulling her riding gloves off. "Give my apologies to Fiona. I am not hungry and I doubt I'll want to eat later on." She passed Eleanor who was coming down the stair with dirty linens. "If you would start heating the water for my bath, I would appreciate it." 

"Lady Genevieve?" Thornton stood at the bottom of the stairs. "Sir Guy has done many things that I know of and has been accused of even more. I have never known him to harm a child." 

Joffrey nodded his head in agreement. 

Genevieve stared at the two men for a few moments before turning her back on them, going to her room and slamming the door shut. 

The noise jarred the kittens awake, their mother again, nowhere to be seen. The group attacked her legs, climbing up her jeans and attempted to reach her shoulders. With a calm patience she didn't feel, Genevieve plucked them off, murmuring, cooing, and placing them on the bed. Looking around, she realized she had left her iPad and notebook in Guy's room. She stormed from the room, cursing under her breath, found her things where she had left them on the table and returned to her chambers. 

"Dammit, I shouldn't leave these about!" She made a mental note to make sure if she wasn't using the items, they were in her bag at all other times. As she grabbed her bag, she realized the screen was blinking. 

"He turned it off. I remember that!" she whispered furiously. "He turned it off!" She stroked the power switch, only to see the screen light up. 

_Talk to him, chickiepoo._

"Talk to him?" Genevieve whispered. "Talk to him? Val!" She searched the rafters. "That man terrorized a child and an entire village! I knew he was an over-bearing asshole, but this... this is not the man I made love to last night."

_Trust him. Talk to him._

"This is stupid, me talking to an iPad!" she hissed under her breath. "Val! He hangs thieves! Hangs them! What that child stole isn't worth killing him over!" 

_There is a huge difference between a threaded polished rock and one's entire inheritance and life. Talk to him. Trust him._

"Would this have anything to do with teaching me about the vengeance and retribution we spoke of last night?" 

_You need him. In more ways than one._

Genevieve shook her head, refusing to believe what she was reading. 

_He needs you, in more ways than one._

The screen went blank for a moment before lighting up, an obscure music video suddenly blaring from miniscule speakers.

_Make a cross on your ab-do-men_  
When in Rome, do like the Romans  
Ave Maria  
Gee, it's good to see ya- 

Genevieve fumbled for the volume control, power switch and eventually shoved the thing under her pillows, muffling the sound.

"Vaaaaaaaaal..." She listened for the sound of anyone pounding up the stairs. After several moments of blessed silence, she pulled the electronic device out from under the pillow and sat on the bed.

_HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE!!!_

"NOT FUNNY!" It was forced, hissed from her lips. 

_Chickiepoo, eat something, have some wine. Take a long bath. Trust him. Yell at him if you must, he's expecting it, but listen to him. Listen with your heart._  
  
With that, the power faded, the battery dead, yet again. Genevieve sat looking at the longest time at a dead screen, before sliding it and the notebook into her gym bag and putting it away. She sat for a long time, staring at the glowing embers of the fireplace, unaware the temperature was dropping and that it was starting to mist outside. When it began to sprinkle, her immediate thought was _Guy is out in this mess._  
 __  
Oh Guy will be just fine, just like he was last night. He'll come in looking like someone ridden hard and put up wet, and expect me to hover over him. Well, he can forget that! I hope his horse tosses that fine ass of his into a mud puddle!

The thought crossed her mind that perhaps Guy was Lamar's ancestor, after all, that would be just her luck, wouldn't it? But on second thought, she decided that couldn't be right. Lamar was a wimp. Guy was not a wimp! Guy was... well, Guy was a douchebag!

 

She then wondered what he had done to the boy. Hang him? Scare him? Did they do stocks in the 12th century? If so, would Guy leave him out in this weather?

Was he that cruel?

_When in Rome..._

Different time, different values, different culture, different... everything. 

_Have you not guessed? I am simply someone's evil lackey..._

_How old were you..._

_Nineteen... please shut it..._

There was such... pain... regret... hidden in the dark depths of that knight. And in thinking back, Genevieve didn't sense pleasure or happiness at what he was doing to Timmy in Clun. Fury, yes, but not...  
 _  
'Timmy. Why am I not surprised?'_

And there was that mess with the bailiff. When Guy mentioned him on their ride, there was no satisfaction. Simply anger. Great anger. 

And he rode into Clun angry.

_Dear God, please grant him self-control. Don't let him do something he'll regret. Don't let him do something that will make me hate him...anger I can handle. Hate? There is enough of it in the world._

With a sigh, Genevieve rose from the bed, much to the dismay of the kittens and went to the door, down the hall and to the landing. 

"Thornton? I changed my mind about dinner."

_**~~~...~~~** _

In the end, Genevieve was glad she ate. She didn't eat much and Fiona fussed. After barking at her that morning for her obvious sins, the woman turned into somewhat of a mothering hen, elbowing Thornton out of the way to make sure she had enough to eat. Guy's chair was moved to the end of the table, out of the way, another chair replacing it, as Joffrey sat next to her.

At some point, Michael the Red joined them, sitting next to her, Thornton serving him as well without question. 

"It takes two of you to stand guard over me?" 

Michael was tearing into his meal. "Wife's in labor. It was here or the tavern in Nottingham. Here is closer." He picked up a piece of meat with his knife. "Food's better here." 

"Sir Guy's table scraps are better'n the tavern's." Joffrey nodded to a blushing, but pleased Fiona. "Better'n anywhere, mos' likely!" 

Michael never looked up. "Joffrey. Heard Sir Guy sentenced the old bailiff to hang."

"Yeah." 

"Good." 

Genevieve turned to stare at the man. "Good?" 

"Michael was completely focused on his food. "He was a bad one. Always coveting what his betters had, trying to figure out a way to take it. Considering what he did to Sir Guy and Isabella? To Lo... to Robin? Don't blame Sir Guy a bit." He winked at Fiona. "Robin might even come to watch and cheer as well."

"So... you considering hanging the man as justice served?" 

Michael found the bone of the chicken and began to rip what was left off. "More than justified, Lady Genevieve. If Sir Guy can wait until the afternoon, there will be a fine crowd to see that one swing."

Genevieve's stomach lurched. She pushed her plate back. "I think I'm done, Thornton. Tell Fiona it was lovely." 

Michael wasn't aware he had curdled Genevieve's digestive system. "So, I hear Sir Guy had to smack down a squabble in Clun. Who'd he take to Nottingham?" Genevieve's ears tweaked.

"Timmy, Ger's boy." 

Michael snarled into the bone he was picking apart. "That 'un needs a man's guidance." He swung his hand, as if to swat the air. 

"Did something happen to Timmy's father?" Genevieve asked tentatively. 

Joffrey had now returned to the remnants of his own meal. "'is father supposedly went to the Holy Lands. 'e's not been 'eard from in some time." 

"And?" 

Michael was finishing his plate. "Rumors. Lots o' rumors, is all. I, fer one, woulda left too and not come back. Not to Ger."

"She let Timmy run wild since 'e could walk," Joffrey finished the thought. "Not a good situation."

Genevieve had listened quietly, taking this information in. 

_Timmy. Why am I not surprised?_

She started to rise from her seat, her thoughts focused on the bath.

"M'lady?" Michael was looking up at her. "The Sheriff isn't here. Sir Guy's justice might seem harsh to you, but it's just." With that, he returned to the goblet now in front of him. "Timmy'll get wot he deserves. Nothing more, nothing less."

"More just than the sheriff's." Thornton handed her a full goblet. "Your bath is ready." 

Feeling dismissed, Genevieve headed up the stairs, and into the bathing room. 

The door shut quietly behind her, barely heard. Michael began to clean his place and move things back where they belonged. "Anything else I need to know about?" 

"He's bedded her." 

"Willin'?" 

"Very."

"Ah." Michael moved towards the kitchen with his things. "Maybe that alone will keep him from killin' Timmy."

_**~~~...~~~** _

Genevieve sank into the heat. The room was steaming hot, the water hotter, causing a sweltering mist in the room. She would die before she would admit it, but her muscles were complaining, be it the horseback riding or the amazing sex from the night before. Perhaps it was the amazing sex, followed by the horseback riding. Regardless, she had used muscles in the last twenty-four hours in ways she hadn't used them in months. Maybe if it had been JUST the horseback riding or JUST the amazing sex...

Speaking of amazing sex, she was in a quandary. 

Last night, she had seen a side of That Man she fantasized about might possibly exist and obviously did. For that, she was grateful. 

And sore. 

But today, she had seen another side, a darker, malicious side, that she assumed existed, had an inkling existed over... there... somewhere... off... but never truly thought she'd hear about, much less witness. 

And it left her sore. 

However, while her first inclination was to run and not look back, no one in the household seemed to be bothered by his actions, and her own office manager - who always gave good advice, which is why she stole her from her former employer in the first place - was telling her to trust him, listen to him, and in some odd way, allow him to teach her.  
 _  
When in Rome, do like the Romans..._

Only her irrepressible Val would dare answer a question with Tom Lehrer lyrics. And ragtime at that! 

Eleanor had brought rose petals for the water, when she brought up a carafe of wine for Genevieve. She dropped them in, glorying in the scent exploding in the steam, and then scooted all the way to the back of the tub, replaying the entire day in her mind.

_When in Rome, do like the Romans..._

Somewhere, between the sips of wine, the screaming of the little boy, his mother, the townspeople, Guy's anger...

_When in Rome... When in Rome..._

A single tear formed, budded, and slid from beneath a closed eye. 

_He's angry at the former bailiff, he's angry because our plans changed, he's angry at the boy, he's angry at the Sheriff, he's angry at me for lying to him, he's angry... he's angry... he's angry...he's just an angry man._

_When in Rome..._

She was sobbing before she realized she was crying. She pulled up her knees and propping her elbows on them, her face in her hands, she poured her heart, much like she had when she was fourteen, when she discovered her long-time crush was taking her best friend to the freshman dance. 

_I wanna go home, this place is mean, the people are mean, HE is mean, the whole world is just mean and it sucks and Ficklebutte sucks and I'm just going to tell him to bite me and keep his nasty old contract and his money I don't really want and tell Lamar to go fuck himself and I'll just take my employees to the zoo on Friday and we'll go to work on Monday like nothing has changed._

She didn't hear the door open or shut behind her. She wasn't aware when her goblet was refilled and she didn't hear clothing hit the floor. Calloused fingers grazed her shoulders. "Move forward." 

She jerked up, looking behind her in shock. Guy stood there, in all of his heavenly, naked glory. Even flaccid, he was impressive. 

He twitched. 

Genevieve's eyes jerked upwards to his. Strangely enough, he was smiling. "Thank you for the unspoken compliment. If you will move forward, we will talk and get this infernal business of an argument out of the way and then we can make love all evening and all night." Without saying a word, she moved forward, eyes still on him. Long legs that went up to heaven, stepped over the edge of the tub and sank into it. He hissed at the heat, reveling in the easing of his muscles in his back, something that was starting to pain him more than he wished to admit. Once settled, he reached forward and pulled her back against him, against his chest and held her, resting his chin on her head.

"I don't know if I even want to share this bath with you," she hiccupped. 

"Too late." He began to rake his fingers through her hair, drawing it back. It was like silk, gloriously soft. Silently, he wished she would allow it to grow; he longed to see it spread across his pillow, his chest, wrapped around his hand. "I am not leaving and I will not allow you to leave until you have had your say in whatever tone you wish to say it in and we discuss this." 

At his announcement, Genevieve leaned back against him and resting her full weight against him, sobs yet again escaping painfully from her chest. "Did you have to be so awful? It was simply a polished rock. She got it back, no real harm done."

Guy sighed. During his ride to and from Nottingham, he had reflected on her ire, her possible reason for upset. It dawned on him that her time was so very different from his, that her life... she did not have a clue. Genevieve was soft, not only physically, but her life, where she came from, was a soft, genteel one. After reading through her contract - and yes, he had read through all of it, knew every detail, her time was no better. Different in its ways, yes, but equally greedy. This was a different kind of cruelty and deep inside, he cringed, terrified of the thought at what would happen if, when she found out about Marian's fate. 

"Except to Margaret, the baker, whose stall he has run through and destroyed more than once. She watched a moon's worth of income get tossed in the dirt. Tilt your head back and close your eyes." As soon as Genevieve did such, warm water coursed through her hair, the strands drenched with water. She heard him shuffle through her things on the table. "Your hair soap..."

"In the little bottle, labeled 'Ginseng-"

"Cherry blossom." He picked up, turning it around and over. His face brightened. "Organix? As in an... orgasm for your hair?" Obviously, he was pleased of his use of his newly learned vocabulary. His attempt at humor was not lost on Genevieve. He continued to the bottle around and over. "Where is the stopper? I do not understand this." 

Genevieve reached around and flipped the lid. "Turn it upside down and pour some into the palm of your hand." She watched as he did so - 

"Squeeze gently." 

\- and then smiled as he brought the thick liquid to his nose, inhaling the floral scent. He recognized it, recognized it as hers and _hers_ alone. _This_ scent he would always associate with Genevieve. Lavender belonged to Marian and it did not smell as right on Genevieve. Finally, he applied it to her hair, sudsing it up, glorying in the feel of wet silk and foam. 

"I have always wanted to do this," he whispered, so soft, she could barely hear. He dipped his hands in the water, rewetting the strands. For a time, they both reveled in the silence, the beauty of bathing together and Guy's strong, but gentle touch, working the shampoo through the roots of her hair, both of them loath to continue a conversation they knew had to be finished. Finally, he reached over and lifted the small bucket laid to the side for the purpose of rinsing her hair. Guy watched, mesmerized at the froth, as it slowly trickled down her shoulders, her body and into the water. 

"You are itching to continue this conversation." He kissed her shoulder, hoping and praying she would work through it. He was who he was, with all of his faults and sins. She would accept him as he was and he would revel in it or she would not and he would close himself off and truly become the bastard he was rumored to be. She inhaled once, her shoulder blades rising, before she exhaled. 

"I just don't understand the need to be cruel," she blurted. "He's a child, for pity's sake. Children are rambunctious, get into mischief. They do things-"

"Timmy," Guy began heavily, "does things all the time. I have been content to allow his mother to discipline him, which is her right and her job, however," he took her hands in his, "when Timmy, or anyone, harms people, I must intervene. He steals things. He damages property and rather than discipline him, his mother makes excuses, acts as if they are the ones with the problem. The townspeople are tired of it, her husband left because of it-"

Genevieve turned completely sideways, so that she was effectively in Guy's lap. In the light from the fireplace, she noticed his eyes, the dark circles around them. "He left? Michael and Joffrey said that he went to the Holy Land."

"Aye, he _said_ he was going to the Holy Land to fight," Guy's smile was grim, "but he never made it. Somewhere, in the Mediterranean, I suspect he met a happier woman, one that enjoyed his attentions." Despite the fact Genevieve sat naked in between his legs, Guy spent time, focusing on her face, stroking her hair, as if to memorize her features. 

"But then they are to be pitied!" Genevieve was horrified. "They've been abandoned, technically she's a widow. The church needs to step up to the plate, Guy! It's their job and duty to take care of them!" 

Guy stared hard at her, making her shrink. "What do you know of what the church's duty is? How would you know this?" 

"Guuuuy! I was raised in church. I have a Bible. I read it quite often when I was young-"

His hand covered her mouth. "Wot? You read Latin? How came you by the Holy Writ?" Genevieve pushed his hand away, spitting rose-scented suds to the side.

"Latin? NO! I have a KJV!" She stopped and thought. "No, wait," she mumbled, her finger pointing nowhere in the air. "Grandma bought me an NIV when I moved to Georgia." 

Guy tilted his head. "Wot?" 

Genevieve covered her mouth with a soapy hand. "Oh, I forgot," she whispered from behind it. "The Bible hasn't been translated yet." 

"Translated?" Guy seemed horrified, but at the same time, extremely interested. "It has been translated into a language we all understand?" 

Genevieve's head began to jiggle like a bobble-headed doll. "King James, not yet king for several hundred years to come, breathe easy, ordered the Bible translated into what was then Common English for all of his subjects. It's called the King James Version, or more frequently called the KJV." She dropped her hand back into the water. "The one I have at home is an NIV - a New International Version."

"You will not speak of this." Guy's hand tightly covered her mouth, his spread fingers and thumb extending from ear to ear. "Never again. Not to me, not to anyone. To do so could have you burned as a heretic. The Bible is a sacred book and only for holy eyes." His fingers brushed across her lips. "And we are not holy." 

Genevieve nodded. 

"Timmy," Guy continued hesitantly, attempting to redirect back to the original subject, "has been a problem child for as long as anyone can remember. He steals things, not food, petty things, he breaks things; he doesn't care. He is becoming more blatant as he gets older. Hood is the bane of my existence, one that I will see pays for his crimes if it kills me, but I understand him. Hood is the least greedy human I know. Timmy is greedy. If someone else has it, he wants it. It matters not what it is." 

"Sounds like some people I know back home."

"The Sheriff's Law is very specific about thieves. Age is not a concern or a factor. Timmy's mother and the townspeople have kept quiet about him, but the townspeople are no longer accepting. They see what he is becoming, whether his mother does or not."

"But he's a child."

"But he is a thief," Guy interjected and reiterated bluntly. "And if the Sheriff were here, when he was caught, the punishment would be dire. A finger, a hand cut off. Many times, a parent will take a child's blame, their punishment. Look about, see how many adults are missing limbs. It is harsh punishment, Genevieve." 

Genevieve attempted to pull back. "So that's what you did. You cut off his hand!" she cried out in horror. Guy shook his head in disgust. "Oh dear God, please tell me you are not going to hang him tomorrow as well!" Guy's hand again covered her mouth. 

"You do not know me very well, Genevieve, if you think that. You do not know the lengths I have gone to to save those that the sheriff would have killed without a second thought."

_Including a group of boys playing Robin Hood and the Nightwatchman..._

"Guy? Where is Timmy?" 

He braced himself. "Timmy is in the dungeon at Nottingham. He is not _in_ the coldest cell or _in_ the most rat infested one, but he is there and there he will spend the night. He should thank his maker that the sheriff has gone for some days and the jailer has gone to visit a relative. My guards are on guard duty tonight and they are loyal to me. After the execution tomorrow, I will discuss with Timmy's mother how she is going to take her child in hand. If she cannot or will not, I will arrange for him to be sent off and fostered for a trade or a guard; to someone with a reputation for being a harsher taskmaster than his mother. He is too smart to languish and allowed to be left to his own devices. Perhaps, if he is kept busy and occupied, he will not have time to get into trouble." He waited for her to howl, curse him, anything. When it did not happen, he motioned to the foot of the tub. "Move to the other side and turn around. I wish for you to scrub my back."

She complied and for some minutes, Guy enjoyed her ministrations, her fingers on his spine and shoulders. He flinched when she traced his lower indention at his hips, whispering that his muscles were a bit tight there. And for the first time since he was a child, a woman washed his hair, Genevieve's fingers mimicking his as they raked through the long locks. He found her touch erotic and he stirred, hoping and praying he had not disillusioned her and that they would recapture the heat of the previous evening. 

"What are you thinking of, Genevieve?" 

"What makes you think I am thinking?" 

Guy snorted, shaking the water from his face where she rinsed his hair. "You are quiet. I have discovered that means you are contemplating something."

Silence.

"Genevieve..."

Her hands drifted to between his shoulder blades and she began to knead the flesh. "I... understand what you said about Timmy. I'm glad you're not going to maim him or kill him." Guy snorted. "But it still seems harsh. Back home-"

"But you are _not_ back home!" Guy's voice came out harsher than he intended. Surely she could see this conversation was testing his patience. "This is not your 'Alanna Jorjah', it is not your time. It is Nottingham. England! The year of our Lord 1196. Richard Coeur de Lion is King and all of England's revenue is being sent to fund Rome's War with the Infidels. Everyone is hurting, everyone is hungry, except for those with power. The Sheriff would have maimed him and not lost an ounce of sleep or missed a meal. I have not harmed him, save put him in a dungeon, hoping and praying that it frightens the piss out of him and makes him think before he does something that his mother cannot save him from. If you believe this is harsh, so be it. And if in your time it is harsh, then I believe your time is too soft! Scratch below my left shoulder blade." 

She complied. _When in Rome, do like the Romans..._

It crossed his mind to order her hand lower, around, to clasp him and stroke him until his seed spilled in the water, but truth was, he was exhausted, irritated that his day had not gone as planned and that there was an invisible wedge between him and the woman seated behind him who was scratching his back in the most delightful manner. And he needed to be up early in the morning. He wanted that execution over with and that chat with Ger done and over with as quickly as possible. He intended to make it very clear to both mother and son that things would no longer be tolerated and this was the child's last chance. He had spent the ride home already deciding where to send the boy if he should act out. He met Sir Rodrick while in Prince John's court. He was tough, cranky and possibly the only human being Guy ever had to look up to since he reached his full height. He taught Guy to joust and sharpened his sword skills. 

_'Yer a big man, my friend. Means ya move slower. Can't help it. But, yer a big man, ya hafta learn to work around that and use it to yer advantage!'_

He served one of the Marcher Lords on the Welsh border and Guy couldn't think of a tougher bastard to yank a knot in Timmy's tail. He would send a messenger tomorrow. He didn't have a lot of faith in Timmy. Might as well get things set up. 

The water was now cold. He pulled the drain plug and helped Genevieve from the tub. After rubbing her down with a large bath linen, he led her to his room and after stoking his own fireplace, pulled her into the bed, spooning her to him, tucking her ankles between his and with his arms around her shoulders, held her tight to his chest. Eventually, he fell into a fitful sleep, murmuring through-out the night.  
 _  
Ne laissez pas moi je suis désolé s'il vous plaît pardonnez-moi Marian ne laissent pas comment puis-je corriger cela, dites-moi s'il vous plaît..._

Sleep however, did not come to Genevieve. She lay awake, watching the shadows, churning over the day, the events, what Guy said, what she saw, what she felt. She listened to him breathe, listened to him mumble, listen to him cry out, listened to his pent-up heartache, and wondered what Marian did to hurt him so badly. 

_Val? Val? I'm so confused..._

_Trust him... when in Rome..._

Finally, just before the cock crowed and the sun rose, she fell into a disturbed, restless sleep. 

When she awoke, Guy was gone, his side of the bed, cold.

_**~~~...~~~** _

_**It's never a Question** _

**_~~~...~~~_ **

_Tom Lehrer: Doin' the Vatican Rag._  
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_YcGRNmkB00

_  
Ne laissez pas moi je suis désolé s'il vous plaît pardonnez-moi Marian ne laissent pas comment puis-je corriger cela, dites-moi s'il vous plaît..._

_don't leave me I am sorry please forgive me Marian don't leave how do I fix this? Tell me please._


	18. 17 ... irrirtable...

__

Manna from Heaven 

__

Chapter 17 

__

...irritable... 

_'This,'_ Guy thought to himself, _'had to be one of the earliest mornings he had ever gotten up for voluntarily.'_

He hadn't slept well, was aware Genevieve hadn't slept well either. She finally fell asleep about the time he decided to just wake up and couldn't go back to sleep. 

Truth was, he didn't want to go back to sleep because the nightmares were becoming intense again. Was there no peace? Would there ever be peace for him? 

Who would have thought that this idyllic time would unravel this quickly? For the first time in years, Guy considered laying face first on an altar and confessing every sin he had ever committed, if it would repair things with his heart and soul. He would do anything to recapture the beauty of the night before last with Genevieve. 

Her scent clung to him, all night he kept his nose in her hair. It was exotic, different from Marian's and he came to the conclusion that Marian's scent wasn't Genevieve's scent. It was _wrong_ on her. At some point dressing this morning, he realized he smelled of roses. His men would have a good laugh at that, but he didn't care. He left the bed as quietly as he could, got dressed quickly and waited until he was behind the barn to piss off his morning wood, so he wouldn't wake or disturb Genevieve. The sun was coming up as he saddled his stallion and left for Nottingham. He realized as he left Locksley that the tack he used on his horse was that that belonged to his father. 

He hadn't thought of his father or his mother in a some time. The memories were hazy, faint most times. Funny, how he remembered their smells more. Before his father left for the Holy Land, Guy was his father's shadow - hunting, fishing. The man taught him both, taught him how to feed himself, his family, before he left, before Guy was forced to grow up before his time. He taught his son to listen, to care, guided him. 

And when he left...

_The day before he left, he took Guy hunting. 'You are the man of the house now, Guy; l'homme de la maison. You must watch over your mother and sister. You must be strong for them._

_Eighteen months after he left, Roger Gisborne was granted land and a title to go along with his previously earned knighthood for his heroic deeds on the battlefield, saving a high ranking commander. As a reward, he was given a title, now Sir Roger, and land, property, a small hamlet to call his, up in Nottingham, neighboring Locksley._

_Isabella did not move well; for that matter, neither did Guy. They knew their mother was very fond of their little home close to the sea in the south of England. Moving north, into Nottingham, put her further from her family; a family who Guy discovered later, looked down on her and her children because she married a 'homme d'Angleterre', a man of England. Even if he was of Norman descent._

_But Isabella soon fell in love with her new home, as did Ghislaine, for this place was larger and the children no longer shared a room, but had a bigger one each to themselves. Even Guy discovered he liked and appreciated that._

_The Lord of Locksley - Lord Malcolm - was friendly, too friendly even then in Guy's young mind. He was a widower and his son, Robin, quickly became a pain in Guy's posterior. Unbeknownst to Guy, plans were being made for him, his education, Ghislaine looking ahead for her children. If her husband ever became lost in the Holy Land, she wanted Guy to inherit without usurpers trying to take advantage._

_The little village accepted them well enough... until word reached them that Sir Roger Gisborne had died in battle..._

_And the newly appointed bailiff began to sow discord among the people._

Guy was jolted from his musings by the noise, the wretched poor, at the outer gates. _Did these people ever sleep?_

Closing his thoughts, his memories, and locking them away, he rode into the front gates of Nottingham, ignoring the masses before the gates. 

He stabled his horse, making sure he was hayed well and watered. For not the first time, the stableboy made mental note that if Sir Guy treated the populace near as well as he treated his horse, things would be much happier, indeed. 

__

~~~...~~~ 

Guy was not the only one to enter the city gates that early in the morning. Robin Hood and his gang snuck in minutes later, taking advantage of Timmy's mother's wailing and pleading to be allowed in, at the same time distracting the guard. Once inside the gates, the group found a quiet place to discuss strategy.

"This," Little John muttered, "we do not like!" 

"I don't like it either, Little John, but my concern is Timmy, brat that he is." Robin was searching, looking around. "Did Guy bring Lady Genevieve with him?" 

Allan a-Dale siddled up next to Robin. "Wen' to the barn. Just 'is 'orse, is all. Looks if 'e left 'is lady at Locksley."

"This could be ugly," Much agreed. "I don't think that even Sir Guy would bring a woman to this." The guards began to prepare the hangman's scaffolding; making sure the levers and drops worked and that the rope was sturdy, not frayed. There was a straw filled cart underneath for the body. "So, we rescue them all?" 

"No," Robin whispered. "We just save Timmy." He snarled his nose. "Longthorn can hang." Hood, lifted his chin to the gang. "Go see if you can find out what he plans to do with Timmy. Don't try to rescue him yet. He needs to have the soup scared out of him." He watched as members of his entourage split up and disappeared into the early morning mist. For a moment, his eyes fell on Timmy's mother, Ger, crying, causing a fuss, and not endearing herself to anyone, including Robin, at the castle doors.

"Robin?" All but Tuck had left and the good friar now stood at the outlaw's elbow. "Any reason why you are willing to look the other way for Longthorn?" 

"I can't save them all, Tuck." Robin started to push off the post he was leaning against, but the larger man held him back. Tuck spent much time watching this gang he now considered his charges, his flock. He watched Sir Guy of Gisborne also, and privately considered him one of his flock as well. 

"'Tis no secret," Hood whispered, "the man tried to rob me of my birthright over twenty years ago. He would have succeeded had it not been for the town priest and the people." 

"What would make him think he could steal a birthright, Robin of Locksley?" 

Robin glared at the man. Sometimes, the good friar saw too deeply in one's soul. "Because he stole Gisborne's out from under him. His hate of the former bailiff is just. This execution is just." With that, he pushed off from the post and trotted off towards the side door into the dungeons.

__

~~~...~~~ 

Guy's first order that morning, was to bring him breakfast, which happened fast enough. He ate heartily, wanting to get this part of the day over with. If things went as planned, he would be back in Locksley after lunch and he could go about re-wooing Genevieve. The longer he thought about it, the longer he mulled over what was in that infernal contract of hers, the more he dreamed of moving, escaping this damned country and its politics, escaping Vaisey, escaping Isabella. Let her have Locksley, the responsibility. _Heh._ Maybe he would send a missive to her husband when he left, letting the man know where she was. Let Vaisey and Hood fight it out. Guy realized he no longer cared who ruled England: John or Richard.

He just wanted peace in his life, a peace he could buy in southeast France; Languedoc. The further away from England, the better. 

Of course, if Vaisey was unseated, died... naturally... and John offered him the sheriff's position...and he had worked damned hard to retain the Gisborne lands and title. There was that to remember. 

There was the bang of a platter, as Isabella sat down next to him, her plate full. He watched dispassionately as she brought her over-loaded eating knife to her mouth, uncaring of her manners as no one was about. "When is the hanging?" 

"As soon as you finish stuffing your face." Guy snarled. "For all of his so-called abuse, pity your husband did not beat table manners into you." 

Isabella stiffened at the offensiveness of her brother's mouth. She started to call her sibling a vile name, but snapped her mouth shut when she realized the slur would be a secondary insult to her mother. The lower door banged open, a cold breeze and the echo of a woman's crying coming in through the passageway. 

"What is that wretched caterwauling?" Isabella had returned her attention to her plate.

"Timmy's mother." 

"You know, if you wait past lunch, there will be a bigger crowd." She pointed her knife at him. "You might even be able to roust up some musicians to play. I would pay to see you dance, for a change!" 

Guy watched in black scorn as two of his guards forcefully dragged a child up the stairs, and down the hall. "Gentlemen!" he called out to them. "No need to be rough." He buried his nose into his goblet, his eyes still on Timmy. "I want this over with," his voice echoed eerily from the pewter. "I had things planned yesterday that I had to put off to today."

_Pray she does not hate me and will be amenable after last night._

"I imagine you did," Isabella agreed maliciously. "Wet, rainy days are always best spent in bed, cuddled up." Her tone soured. "At least, that's what Thomas always said." 

Guy held his hand up. The last thing he wanted to listen to was his sister complaining about her husband's lack of consideration in their marriage bed. That was not his problem. His main concern was at this moment being hauled into the hall. Timmy was sniffling, crying. He was filthy and no doubt needed a bath. Guy gestured for the child to sit to his right, across from his sister, who immediately made a face at the stench coming from the child and got up and left. 

_Heh! So that is how to get rid of my sister. Sit a filthy urchin next to her. I will remember that!_

"How do you fare, Timmy?" 

This started a new round of crying and apologizing and swearing it would never ever ever happen again and it was just a rock and he just wanted a closer look. 

Guy rolled his eyes. His desire to sire any - 

_more_

\- children was diminishing rapidly. For a flash, he thought again of Annie, their son, a quick prayer in the back of his mind for their safety and well-being. 

_So many things I cannot atone for. Why do I bother?_

"Sit. And stop sniveling." Guy snarled his nose. The boy was beyond ripe. "Man up." He motioned to the servant clearing Isabella's place. "Bring him some food." After the servant brought the fare, Guy walked around the table to the guard and whispered something in his ear, the guard nodding and returning to the dungeon. Guy waited until the boy was finished - his table manners equally atrocious as Isabella's. No, Guy reminded himself, the missive to Sir Rodrick would go out immediately after this nasty business was done and over with. The sooner Timmy was out of Clun, Nottingham, the better. When Timmy was finished, Guy nodded to the horrified servant to clean the boy's place and then jerked his head towards him. "Follow me." Timmy immediately began again to whine and cry. "Oh, shut it. You are not to die this day. Within the hour, you should be heading home on your own two feet, if I do not hear another word." 

Quickly, the boy swallowed his crying, attempting very hard to not make a sound. He followed the tall knight to the landing outside the castle's doors, where the view of the gallows was, in the sheriff's words, magnificent. 

A crowd was gathering and Guy would bet both of Vaisey's testicles that somewhere in the crowd, Hood and his gang were there or hidden. Timmy's mother stood at the foot of the steps and when she saw her son standing next to the leather-clad man, she picked up her skirts to join them, however the guard assigned to her held her back. 

A lone man stood on the platform, hands tied. Longthorn was apparently resigned to his fate, his family, no where to be seen. Guy didn't blame them. Truly, who wanted to watch their loved one die? Guy's hand rested heavily on Timmy's shoulder. "Watch," he pressed down so the boy couldn't move. "Do not take your eyes from him no matter what." It was whispered low, so no one heard but the child he was speaking to. Seeing Isabella over to the side, huddled in her cloak, Guy decided to get it over with. 

"Robert Longthorn, you are accused and found guilty of many heinous crimes."

He lifted his chin and jutted it back at Guy. "At least I've murdered no souls. Can you say the same?" 

He was knocked flat by the backhand of the executioner on the platform. "Mind yer tongue, you filthy whoreson." While the guilty man picked himself up from the wood, the guard turned to Sir Guy. "Shall I cut out 'is tongue first?" 

Guy was not deterred. Insults about his character were commonplace anymore and he discovered he no longer cared what the rabble thought of him. 

At one time, he cared what Marian thought and when she finally told him the truth...

And now, Genevieve...

The Black Knight shook his head no. Schooling his face and features, Guy spoke up. "I will not apologize to one as you for taking back what was mine to begin with." Seeing Longthorn was standing, he flicked his wrist, signally to the executioner to do his job. The noose placed around the man's neck, the hangman pulled a hood from his belt. "No." Both guard and prisoner looked at Sir Guy. "No hood. He does not deserve it." Guy's hand was pressing on Timmy's shoulder and reiterated to the boy to not look away. 

"Good. I want to see your face," Isabella muttered darkly. Guy realized with a shudder, that his sister was now standing next to him.

"Sir Guy?" The executioner stood by the bound man, the hood in his hand. 

"No. Leave it off." 

Up on the ramparts, hidden in the misty shadow of one of the battlements, Much looked on in horror. "No hood?" he hissed to Robin, who watched from the next one, his arrow nocked, just in case. 

Robin frowned, disgust on his face. "He's teaching Timmy an ugly, ugly lesson." His frown deepened. "And he's teaching it in an ugly way." 

Longthorn realized that Sir Guy had a boy next to him, the same boy who was in the cell several down from him the previous night in the dungeon. "Sir Guy, please. He is just a child." 

"SO WAS I!" Guy's fury erupted in a roar. "SO WAS MY SISTER! IT DID NOT STOP YOU! HANG HIM! NOW!" 

The executioner stepped back and yanked on the level, the floor dropping out from under the man. 

Longthorn jerked, kicked for several seconds...

Timmy jerked as well, attempting to pull away from Guy. 

"Do. Not. Look. Away."

About the time Longthorn stopped kicking, Timmy fell to his knees, his breakfast spilling down the steps. Isabella curled her nose in distaste - whether it was to Longthorn or Timmy, was anyone's guess, and stepping away, took one last look at the dead man before spitting towards him and walking back into the castle, her cloak billowing behind her. 

The boy still heaving, Guy beckoned to his mother. "Bring me a dipper of water." They waited until the cool drink arrived. "Spit, do not swallow." Guy watched as they cut the body down, after making sure the man was dead, before going down on one knee. "Timmy, listen to me carefully." He knew the boy's mother could hear him. "The next time you steal anything, you will be brought before the sheriff and it could possibly be you on that scaffold. Do you understand?" He nodded, opened his eyes to see his vomit on the steps and began to dry heave again. Guy rolled his eyes. He had seen disgusting things in his lifetime. It would take more than the spewings of a child to upset his stomach. "I think," he directed this to Timmy's mother, "that Timmy is too smart to be left to his own devices and that his energy would be best served with an occupation. Hmm?" 

"I don't wanna be a prieeeeeest!" 

Guy stood back up, patting him hard on the shoulder. "Leave that to me. Take him home, Ger." With that he turned and made his way back into the castle. He stopped as the door shut behind him and after standing in thought for a moment, he turned on his boot heel and headed to his chambers at the castle.

Shutting the door behind him, he went into the privy chambers and vomited his own breakfast. 

__

~~~...~~~ 

Genevieve woke up with a headache and her eyes puffy and swollen as if she had cried all night.

_What is it with this place? I have never cried this much in my life as I have since coming here! Must be the water!_

She rolled over to find Guy's side of the bed cool to the touch. He had obviously been gone a while and looking about, she saw his clothes were not hanging up. The room had a chill, it was misty outside, more rain and cool temperatures coming for the day. Genevieve wanted to roll back over and stick her head under the pillow. She tossed and turned for several minutes, but eventually decided that sleep was not returning. 

Besides, the bed was lonely and cold, even if she was mad at that man. 

She tiptoed across the hall, making sure no one else was up that way and slid into the more austere, but warmest clothing she had. The black and grey fit her mood and truth be told, she wasn't sure if she wanted to rehash everything again in her mind. But she would and she knew it. 

Breakfast was quiet, just her and the servants. Michael had been called home before Guy left. "It's a boy," Thornton whispered proudly. "Finally. After three girls, they have a son." 

"I hope he's as red-headed as his father," Genevieve smiled.

"Oh, no doubt t'is," Joffrey was breaking a fresh loaf of bread. "'is wife is a red-head, too." 

It was quiet while the household ate, a comfortable silence, in all honesty.

"Are you a-right, Lady Genevieve?" Thornton was clearing the table. Genevieve realized she had finished her meal and was just staring into the fireplace. 

She scooted her chair back and stood up slowly. "Aye. I'm just preoccupied." She continued to stare into the fireplace. "This place is simply different and I need to come to terms with it." 

"Different? How?" 

Genevieve still had not looked at the man and he decided he was glad she hadn't. "The way you treat people, the way you treat children. What you call justice." She shook her head and turned. "What _you_ call justice."

With that, she trudged up the stairs. 

The fire in her room was blazing and the kittens were curled up in front of it. The first thing she did was dig out her iPad. It was still dead. She dropped it back into her gym bag. "It's dead," she whispered to no one, "but you know that, right?" 

She pulled out her sketch pad, thankful that she had it, had the good sense to keep it in her briefcase or gym bag at all times. Pulling out the charcoal pencil and her eraser as well, she opened the pad to her initial drawing of the Strandage-Coach building. She liked her concept of it, liked the facade, but there was something... not right. For a time, she stared at it, trying to make it... work. Finally giving up, she turned the page. 

_Her house. Her home. The place she wanted to build and move to when she married and raise her and... and..._

_Well, not hers and Lamar's children, that was for sure._ She scratched absently at the site of the implant. _Yep, that was definitely coming out the minute she came to._

_What if the implant doesn't work here?_ The thought suddenly occurred to her. _What if it doesn't work? What if I get pregnant? How will I explain that? I got pregnant by a hot 12th century knight 800 years ago... oh that will fly yeah right! What will happen? Oh shit! Lamar will think it's his, demand a blood test... and when it isn't his...The Gator will have a field day..._

She shook her head. _Best not to worry about that. Cross that bridge when you get to it, girlfriend._

She looked down at the hand-drawn layout. It looks pretentious, too large...

Looking again, she snarled. This wasn't _her_ home. It was a house for Lamar... to impress his colleagues, his mother...

She turned the page again. 

It was blank. 

She stared at it for a time, flicking the charcoal pencil between her fingers, against the table. After God knows how long, she began to draw... 

She drew the view from Guy's window, the little town of Locksley, with its pond, rough-hewn buildings, Locksley Hall. She drew Clun recalled from her addled and angry memory, with its wild array of stalls and even sadder circle of huts.

A profile... with long, black hair, sharp, jagged planes...

She got lost in the shading, the angles of his face...

And when she finished, her first thought was... _he looks so angry._

_And hurt. And heart-broken...and alone. So very alone._

"M'lady?" 

Genevieve looked up from her sketch, gently closing the pad and laying the pencil down. "Yes?" 

Eleanor pointed behind her. "Madame Isandra has pulled up with her cart. She said something about Sir Guy ordering more dresses for you." 

For the first time since yesterday afternoon, during their ride, Genevieve smiled. "The faire." She set the sketch pad and pencil down on the table and stood up, cracking her back. "Let's help her and find out how many dresses we can squeeze out of her this time!" In rising, Genevieve was glad Isandra hadn't shown up a few hours earlier, when she was still lounging in Guy's bed, putting her in the position of explaining why she was there.

_I shouldn't have to explain. It's none of their business anyway!_

When she opened the door, the woman was outside, bringing in more cloth and fussing. It was trying to rain again, and while the cloth was under something to protect it, she wanted it in before it began to pour. Genevieve ran back into her room and opened up her sketch pad and flipping to blank pages, laid it on the small table. She slipped into her flats and began to rifle through material already being piled on the bed, discarding much, but hanging onto more interesting textures that caught her eye. The kittens were terrified with the new person in the room and all five immediately hid under the bed, spending the next few hours attempting to swat feet and swinging skirts as they came by.

The room had a chill and Genevieve asked Eleanor to stir the fire in the fireplace and to bring up refreshments for the three of them. Eleanor pointed to herself, mouthing _'Me?'_

"Yes, you! We are going to need your help, so you might as well eat too!" She pointed at Isandra. "Sir Guy has not mentioned anything to me, so what is all this for, how many outfits am I allowed, and what kind of money am I allowed to spend?" 

Isandra was grinning from ear to ear. She was going to make a pretty crown or two from this particular order. "Finally, he is going to outfit you as he should have to begin with, my lady!" The emphasis on 'my lady' was obvious.

"There is a faire. How many days, how many outfits?" 

"Sir Guy made it very clear he wished for you to out-shine the stars in the sky!" Genevieve's head was spinning when the woman finished. Four days. Day outfits, night outfits, cloak, she would need something to ride in the coach... 

"The coach? I don't think so! I'll be riding Zeus! So either a split skirt-"

"Lady Marian had split skirts," Eleanor interjected. 

Ew. Genevieve did not want to dress like Lady Marian. Bad enough That Man was crying out for her the previous night in his sleep. Genevieve now wished she had taken French in high school. 

"I do not ride side-saddle, so a skirt with lots of room." She began to pull colors, materials together. "Bliaut?" 

"Yes?" 

"Long, long sleeves and lots of skirt. How low cut in the chest?" 

"As low as you dare, Lady Genevieve."

A slow smile spread on her face. "Heh heh heh heh..."

Genevieve pulled materials and laid them together, before grabbing her sketch pad and quickly drawing the outlines for her dresses. She fell in love with a sapphire blue velvet, found a sheer blue that matched...

"I'm going to need a chain belt with this. Something low, that hangs..."

"I will bring things for you to choose from." 

She pulled a gossamer red, with a matching red satin

"Mademoiselle has lovely taste." There was a red velvet, a lot of red velvet... red brocade..."Ah. I take it red is your favorite color?" Genevieve nodded while sketching. "It is a... bold color."

"Anything wrong with it?" Genevieve did not look up.

"It simply takes a bold woman to carry it off." Isandra licked her lips nervously. "To not look the whore."

Genevieve continued to sketch. "I suppose I shall have to be bold, then." Now Genevieve looked up. "I do not wish to look the whore. Sir Guy's sister..." 

"That one will hate you for the simple reason you are on her brother's arm." Isandra smiled evilly. "You might as well shine!" 

Genevieve didn't know if she wanted Isabella to like her or hate her. There was enough hate in this place as it was, but at the same time...

Genevieve had quite the ego, when it came to clothes. An ego stroked and cultivated when she began to outfit herself as Lamar's ...

_arm ornament..._

It dawned on her that perhaps, she was now becoming Guy's arm ornament, that his sister would see her as such. _How low on the social ladder was a mistress? Was she a mistress?_

But upon reflecting, she didn't think Guy considered her to be an arm ornament, or a toy... she didn't know what he considered her to be.

_I want to be your last desire._

_Val, I will wake up and mourn a knight who has been dead over 800 years, that no one remembers and if he is remembered at all by history, will not be remembered well._

_Except by you, chickiepoo. And those memories will be fully colored in all of its glory, by the light and by the dark and all of its hues and shadings, for he has it all._

She picked up a huge bolt of black velvet. "Well," she flipped through her sketch book. "Why don't I make a statement heard all over Nottingham without saying a word." 

As she began to pull trims and braiding, the dressmaker smiled. _This one,_ she thought, _this one has sens de la mode._

Despite not having to measure Genevieve, they still spent several hours going through fabrics, drawing, adding, taking away from Genevieve's original rough sketches. Dresses, a cloak, footwear, small clothes - the seamstress swooned when Genevieve whipped out her thong and told her to make 'those' in matching undergarments. When Eleanor began to sag from taking things back to the cart as they were discarded, Genevieve pulled out of the diminishing pile a grey multi-purpose cloth, and a red, light wool. The material was not expensive, but it was heavier than what the girl was currently wearing. She turned her sketch pad, showing one more drawing. "This. For her. Split the cost among the rest." She pointed at both. "Not a word. Not to him. Not to anyone who will tell him." 

Isandra shook her head and Eleanor waved her hand. 

As Eleanor was loading the last in the cart, Genevieve began to tear the drawings from her sketchpad, coming to one that was not discussed in front of her young maid. "The footwear is made of what?" 

"Leather, my lady. I know a tanner who is quite talented..." she gasped when Genevieve turned the last page and showed it to her. 

"This. I want this. And it needs to be a complete secret." 

 

__

~~~...~~~ 

The ride back to Locksley was long, Guy's mind everywhere but on his surroundings. The lesson taught to Timmy was harsh; he knew it was, but the truth was seeing a child at the end of a rope - and he had seen children swinging - turned his craw and it _was_ the one thing that made him ill. Vaisey didn't care. A hung thief was a hung thief. After watching what he had watched this morning, knowing the man died at his hand, at his judgment... well...

There was no joy in it. He could not for the life of him, understand why Vaisey took such perverse pleasure in taking a life. He found no satisfaction in this execution, although Longthorn deserved it. Usually Vaisey did nothing with the bodies; simply had them cut down, bagged, and thrown into the rubbish pile. Let the families dig through the waste for their loved ones. 

Guy had been more caring. Certainly more caring than Longthorn deserved. He made sure a wagon - crude, yes - was under the scaffolding, so the family could take him and go. 

He left instruction with the executioner to tell them the man was not to be buried on any or the sacred grounds in Nottingham. And as the wagon and executioner were gone when he looked after lunch, he guessed they had claimed the body and left. 

He supposed it was his own close-call with a noose that made him sick. He still shook if he thought about it. He would rather be beheaded or run through with a sword than hang. 

As with most of the day, he wondered about Genevieve, wondered of her mood, her feelings. She had been in no mood to be wooed the previous evening and truth be told, he had been in no mood to woo her. He gave her what he thought she wanted: space, warmth, and protection. Isn't that what most women wanted? Women of this time, of course, but she was not of this time and that fact was being brought home to him - and her - time and time again with the force of a sledgehammer. He spent the rest of the morning wondering, trying to come up with every possible single argument she would put up. But the bottom line, his deepest fear was she would hate him, like Marian secretly hated him. 

And if that was the case, if she hated him, hated who he was, he would let her go. Guy of Gisborne learned from his mistakes and Marian was a mistake, as much as he hated to admit it. She wasn't his, had never been his to have. Had he let her go, when those niggling thoughts that she didn't love him, that she loved Hood, had he let her go, she would still be alive and both of them would be better off. He was sure if he ruminated enough, he would come to recognize the things Marian taught him, about humanity, life, himself. If Genevieve couldn't accept him for who he was, he would pack her things, take her to Ripley's Convent and once they arrived, tell her exactly what all was in that damned contract. 

Every. Rotten. Disgusting. Thing. 

And then he would turn and leave her and not look back and pray he did not see her disappear, for surely the moment she knew all, she would be gone. 

_And wasn't that what possessed you to turn her device back on when she left the room to change yesterday and let it die after you read that contract again? Voices. Telling how and why to do it. They just never stop in your head, now do they?_

And that decision, regardless of how right it was, dragged him down all morning. The fear she hated him. And that he would be the better man by letting her go.

He knew his stallion hated him. After the execution and Guy spewing his breakfast in private, he went down and brushed that animal for an hour before he left, churning all those thoughts while he pondered and chewed on that bone. 

He wrote Sir Rodrick, quietly hating the ink and quill after becoming used to the remarkable ease of Genevieve's writing utensils. He made quick work of salutations, mentioned the upcoming faire and then asked if he needed a squire. Sir Guy had a young boy in need of a firm hand.

Sir Guy almost added Timmy needed to be properly occupied and kept out of trouble, but decided that 'a firm hand' would tell Sir Rodrick all he needed to know. 

Finding a messenger he trusted was difficult, but he found one and sending that missive off took a weight from his shoulders; a weight he did not realize he was carrying. 

But the most amazing thing happened in the market. Genevieve needed to smell like something besides lavender and he rather liked the rose scent he woke up to in his arms this morning. 

Guy smelled like roses as well and he really didn't want a repeat of that. Isabella sniffed twice at him this morning, looking at him as if he had grown pink tufts of feathers from his head. So his last so-called duty before he headed back to Locksley was to purchase soap in the market. Thankfully, the shopkeeper was close-lipped and said nothing as he chose a rosy-floral for Genevieve and something pine-scented for him. If Genevieve chose to leave him, then she'd have soap, or he would keep it and remember softer times. 

_You have nothing soft of Marian's, save her clothes. Besides Gisborne, you have not wanted to dwell on her. Demons, Gizzy. They claw at you as long as you let them._

After purchasing said soap and wishing he had sent Fiona, he headed to the stable to hear his name being called. He turned to see Isandra running red-faced towards him.

He raised an eye-brow.

"Sir Guy." The woman was grinning. "You certainly know how to make a woman happy."

_You? Jesu, I shall take vows of chastity now._

He blinked several times. "Who?" 

She back-handed him as if she were one of his men, which caused him to draw up. "Why Lady Genevieve, of course." The seamstress was paying no attention to Guy's look of shock. "Mademoiselle has a fine eye for fashion and color!" She crooked a finger, beckoning him to lean down. "I guarantee she'll be the best dressed woman in Nottingham during the faire! And she has a few surprises for you!" 

_Surprises?_

He put on his best, serious face. "Madame Isandra. I do not like surprises." 

"Well, you will like these!" She poked him in the ribs causing his look to become blacker, which she ignored. "And she'll make a statement that will turn everyone's heads!" 

"What kind of statement?"

The woman had the audacity to look put out. "Sir Guy! 'Tis a secret!" 

He grasped her by the elbow tightly and pulled her up on her toes. "I believe I just said I do not like secrets."

Her face fell. "You must promise not to tell. She bade me to sew a bliaut in black velvet, under sleeves lined in yellow satin and trimmed in gold." 

Guy's mind raced. 

His colors. 

_This was not the request of a woman who hated him, who wanted to leave him..._

She was making a very clear statement indeed. 

He must have been lost deep in thought as the woman whispered, "Sir Guy, does this not please you?" 

_She was openly aligning herself to him. Openly..._  
  
"Yes, it pleases me." His mind raced, trying to think. "Is that all she requested. I believe I gave you instructions-"

"She has chosen quite a few outfits, my lord." Now the woman was smiling bigger. "Apparently, her favorite color is red, as she has chosen more than few dresses in it. If you are not sleeping with her," Guy drew up angrily at the audacious suggestion, "you should set a guard at her door to ensure no one accosts her. She also has ordered several dresses in jewel tones." 

_Oh, this is starting to sound expensive._

"Blue, green, and a lovely purple."

Guy's eyes closed as if in pain. _Purple. Purple is expensive._ He shook his head. He had never been beggarly with Marian and that had attained him nothing. Genevieve, on the other hand, bantered with him, mentally challenged him, talked to him as an equal, not down at him, asked his opinion, yelled at him when she thought he was wrong, and in the span of one night, gave him the world.

And despite the fact she was angry with him, that he had openly shown her a side of him he wished she had not seen, she was dressing in his house colors, his standards and publicly aligning herself with him.

_Isabella will howl. Vaisey will shite. It will be worth it to watch Vaisey shite._

"Does she need anything else?" 

Isandra began to tick her fingers. "She has ordered riding gloves, slippers, riding boots, stockings, small clothes-"

"What kind of small clothes?" Isandra snarled in disgust, holding her thumb and index finger barely apart. _Ah, the thong._ He nodded his head. "Good." 

"Sir Guy," Isandra looked about. "She will need jewelry."

Guy snorted. What woman did not' need' jewelry?

The woman continued to prattle about inane things, but the only thing Guy could think about was Genevieve was dressing herself in his colors.

_She does not hate me._

And just that alone made him anxious to go home and do nothing if that is what she desired. He had his horse saddled and brought to him and that ride home was longer than long, even if it was a decent clip of a trot!

He was aware he was watched, Hood and his gang hidden from various vantage points; even in the mist, he could feel the heat of Kate's hate, the furnace of Hood's detestation and desire to kill him. Much's distrust. And that big one's - Little John - he could feel his ire.

He wondered of Tuck. _How did the good friar fit in?_

Up until that Sunday past, he did not care. Now he did. Until God or whoever took Genevieve back to wherever it was she came from, he cared. Once she was gone, well then, he might no longer care. 

Or he might would still care. 

He would decide then. 

Right now, he had sweet smelling soap in his satchel. Soap that did not smell like Marian. And he had a strong box of God knows what of things salvaged from his home, twenty years before. He wanted to look, wanted to see. 

And strangely enough, he wanted Genevieve by his side when he did. 

__

~~~...~~~ 

It was starting to drizzle when he arrived. The Hall was quiet, the smell of burning wood and roast chicken filling the air. As he slung his outer garments on the hook near the fire, he wondered aloud, "How much longer is this rain to last?"

Thornton looked up from setting the table. "According to Old Maud, at least two more days, perhaps three." 

_Joy. This means Vaisey is traveling in this and dealing with Winchester's git in it. At the least, the roads will be muddy during his return. Perhaps, it will delay him._

But three more days meant he still might be able to spend a day with Genevieve like he planned. 

_Naked. Tied up and squirming beneath me. There is a God!_

"Lady Genevieve is-"

"Upstairs in your room, I believe. She says the light is better." He continued to set the table. "Please inform her dinner is ready when you are."

Guy took the stairs two at a time, not trying to sneak, or be quiet. As he entered his room, he saw that, yes, she was at the table by the window. It was unbolted, the shutters thrown back. Weak sunlight came in through the opening and it didn't appear that she was aware of him. 

She was in her trousers, bare feet up on the table, the sketchbook and the kitten she named Maleficent, asleep in her lap. It wasn't until his shadow draped over her before she looked up, calmness personified. 

At that moment, that very moment, Guy knew he had to do something to keep her there, with him, always. There was that peace he desired, yearned for, in her eyes and if it meant going to the priest in Locksley, in Nottingham, saying a thousand Hail Mary's, finding someone's rosary - he had one somewhere - gargling in holy water, confessing to his sins, Vaisey's sins, he would make up sins, whatever, he would do it to share in that peace that was in Genevieve's eyes and have her look at him like that for all eternity. 

He took the sketch pad from her and not looking, he flipped it shut and placed it on the table. With one hand, he lifted the kitten and set it mewling angrily at being disturbed on the floor, before reaching down for her hand and helping her rise. "Hate me?" 

She shook her head. "Where is Timmy?" 

That half smirk was back. "At home with his mother." Before she could ask, he placed a long finger over her lips. "He walked there of his own accord. Hopefully, he learned a lesson." He repeated the question. "Hate me?" 

"No. This time is just so very different." She sniffed. "When in Rome, do like the Romans."

Both eyebrows drew down. "Wot?" 

She placed a hand on his chest and he drew her closer, trapping it between their bodies. "It's a saying from my time. When in Rome, do like the Romans, meaning to assimilate into the culture." 

"Accept what is normal for this time."

"Yes. I cannot change what is accepted here. The best I can do is try to understand it, live with it. It doesn't matter if I don't like it or I don't agree with it. I am not here to change it." 

"And what happens when you decide you can no longer accept or tolerate what is normal here?" One of his hands drifted to her derriere and he cupped it, bringing her closer, clasping her to him. 

Genevieve's smile fell. "I don't know, Guy. I don't know." She nodded to the table. "The battery on my iPad is dead, so I can't work on the contract." 

Good!

With the hand not embracing her bum, Guy took her trapped hand from his chest and kissed the knuckles, sending a good chill down Genevieve's spine. "Dinner is ready," he murmured against her skin. "After dinner, I would like to go through the items given back to me that Longthorn tried to steal. I have no idea what is in it. After that, I thought we would take a bath and then pick up where we left off." The hooded smoulder in his gaze told Genevieve exactly where he would like to pick up. Seeing the answering fire in her eyes, he pressed his point. "I have something for you."

"Yes, I can feel it." 

Guy smirked. "Besides that."

"You are overwhelming me with gifts." She drew herself to his side, molding herself to him. "One would think you are trying to buy me."

"Ah, that would be a Saracen trade, not one here in England. If I bought you, that would make you a slave and while you are mine, you are no slave, nor servant." 

"Ah, than what am I?" She tilted her head up and raised on her tiptoes as he leaned down, his intent clear.

_Someone I have feelings for..._  
  
As his lips reached hers, she heard him breath. "You are mine."

__

~~~...~~~ 

Love to hear 

__

~~~...~~~ 


	19. 18... or resentful...

_**Manna from Heaven** _

_**Chapter 18** _

_**~~~...~~~** _

_**...Or Resentful..**._

_**~~~...~~~** _

Dinner was excellent, filling. Guy and Genevieve's chairs were returned to their previous positions; pulled so close together, the wood rubbed, the intimacy returned. If nothing else, the tension in the household, previously held not only by the couple seated, but by the servants as well, was sated, not quite resolved, but on its way.

So as the table was being cleared, the kitchen being cleaned, water being heated for the evening bath, and the fire in the fireplaces in all the rooms, including Genevieve's, as the staff refused to let on they knew where she really slept, - Guy retrieved the strongbox from Lincoln from wherever his hiding place was and, motioning for Genevieve to follow him, went up the stairs and into his room. 

Balancing the long handled crate on the table, he casually tossed her sketchpad and pencil to his bed, before pushing the wooden box completely on the table. 

He stared at it for a long time. 

"Guy?" He looked up at the woman, standing patiently by his side. "Are you sure you want me here?" 

The knight seemed to go far away in his mind before blinking, refocusing on her. "Yes. Yes I do."

"Well," she gestured, "it won't open itself, will it." 

Guy swallowed hard. He wanted to open it. 

And he didn't.

Genevieve seemed to sense his dilemma. "Perhaps we should skip this and just take a bath. You know. Together." 

The left side of his mouth quirked up, as he reached out and tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear. "Saucy." He reached, unlatching the hooks on his mailed jerkin and shrugged out of it, hanging it on the rack in the little room and leaving him in his poet's shirt. She noticed his buckled sword lay next to his side of the bed.

[](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/ZeeDippyVessel/media/tumblr_mu5c82U6kO1r2w1cro1_5001_zpsffb85d5d.jpg.html)  


"You're very neat." An image of Lamar, slinging things left and right and never picking up after himself flashed in Genevieve's memory, irritating her deeply.

"It is necessary for a warrior." Guy began to pull on a thin rope made of hide from around his neck. "One's worst nightmare is to be woken in the middle of the night, being attacked or to suddenly be called to battle and to have no weapon in sight." 

"I know a lot of Southerners who feel that way, too," she murmured. "What's that?" Guy had pulled the cord completely free from his shirt. Several things lay together bunched together. He thumbed out one item.

"The key to the lock." Pulling it over his head, he inserted the key. 

And dropped his hand. 

It was quiet as the two looked at the key in the lock, waiting...

"What are we waiting for? For it do tricks, turn itself, jump up and down to sing 'Mammy'... "

Guy was looking at her peculiarly. "You are a strange woman." He reached and turned the key, causing the lock to open, drop. He removed the thing, pulling it through the holes and releasing the lid. 

"Do you know what this is, Genevieve?" He didn't wait to hear her answer. "This is all that is left to me of my parents, my father's wealth. It is all that is left of my family, it is all that is left that was stolen from me and Isabella. Everything we possessed is now reduced to this little box." Guy's voice dropped, the fury of an angry, helpless teenager resounding sullenly within it. "I had a home, a family, land, the possibility and wealth to pursue a title, a future, and he stole it from me, openly, and then returned years later to steal and pillage what he left behind. He stole it because he wanted what was mine, without earning it, without..." Guy's voice stopped with a gurgle. He swallowed bile. "I am glad he is dead, but I took no joy in being the hand that brought about his death."

Before she could ask why, Guy slowly opened it, placed the lid back on its hinges, against the wall.

The air was immediately rent with the smell of old smoke, not cooking or wood, but something burned to ashes. It was the smell of death, of pain, of immense, grievous loss. Genevieve was taken aback by it and rather than peer into this box of bereavement, she chose to look at Guy. 

He reached in...

and painstakingly began to withdraw... things; things that had not seen light in years, things he had not laid eyes on in equally long, things he had forgotten, things he remembered, things that brought back cherished, painful memories. A pewter goblet, several iron-wrought plates. They were smoke-tinged, tarnished. There was a matched set of goblets, with a crude circle of red stones...

"My parents drank from these on special occasions," Guy whispered. "I remember them well." He swallowed hard. "I asked my mother once when I would get to drink from them and she said when I was married and Lord of Gisborne. I decided that I would then be very old. " He set them gently to the side. "I had forgotten about them." He continued to pull things from the strongbox... more plate, eating knives, an ivory handled dagger... With much reverence, he showed the weapon to Genevieve, cradling it in both hands. 

"My mother wore this when we were out; when she went into the village or the surrounding ones, if someone was ill." The handle was curved to fit a dainty hand. "My father had it made for her before he left for the Holy Land. For protection, he said. When we moved here, it was a sign of her marriage. She _was_ Lady Gisborne, regardless of what others thought." 

His hands reached into the chest, pulling out a wooden box. "Mon Dieu!" he breathed under his breath. He shook his head, as if to clear it. "Dear God in Heaven." It was whispered as he opened it. Vials and vials of colored liquid, each one cradled in velvet, stoppered, meticulously labeled. 

_Ciguë... Racine de mandragore... L'écorce de saule... L'huile de théier..._

"What is that, Guy?" 

There were needles, for lancing boils, to stitch wounds, extensive, rotting strands of sheep gut thread, a long steel rod with a hook... knives of varying sizes...

"Guy?" 

He closed the lid, only to see something else in the box, something that made him go pale. "Bring me the chair, Genevieve." She brought it around and as he sank into it, she sank to her knees next to him, relishing his fingers in her hair. For some odd reason, she felt this gave him comfort in some odd way. 

"My mother was a healer of great renown. She delivered every babe in Gisborne for some years, treated maladies, illness. She set broken limbs and tended to some ugly scrapes and cuts; most of them mine." He started to tell her of the priest, who Robin had caused such a severe injury, but that he, Guy, had been accused of killing, while he yet still breathed and almost hung for. Another reason to hang Longthorn... "This is her healer's box. I have no idea if the things in it are still potent in their healing properties." 

"Is there anyone around here who can tell you?"

Guy's smile was humorless. "The good Friar Tuck, most likely." 

Genevieve's hope fell. _Oh well._

Guy set the box of vials aside, now focusing on an ornate case and pulling it out. Even Genevieve could see it was something precious and it held something invaluable. 

It was wood, the lid and sides painstakingly carved with forest scenes and a knight on a horse...

She heard Guy's intake of breath as he opened the lid. 

" Mère... Mother..." Nervously, his hand rubbed his upper lip, before reaching for the jewelry casket and placing it in his lap. 

He began to pull things from it... things long forgotten, things unseen. Jet hair combs, with long ebony teeth, combs with lapis handles, matching hair daggers with ivory handles. A teared ruby necklace, the chain, encasings black with age, the jewels in need of tender cleaning. A jet necklace in the same state, obviously a match to the hair combs. There was a large sapphire on delicate silver wire... a jade ring... emeralds...

"Guy, these things are beautiful. But I was lead to believe-"

"My father was a common knight. How came he by all of this?" Guy wasn't put off by the assumption, the question. "My mother's family was well off; last I heard my cousin was now a baron, may he choke on the Devil's bones." This curse brought Genevieve to her feet. "Oh, we hate each other. We have good reason to." He was now holding a ring, a ruby the size of Genevieve's pinky nail, and turning it over and over and over in his hand. "Mère was the youngest daughter of seven children and by her own admission, petted and cosseted. She fell in love with one of her father's knights, well..." now Guy was smiling, "'tis said Roger Gisborne was handsome and well-built. He was highly thought of, honorable, decent, and well-liked, despite being an Englishman of Norman descent. His only downfall was he was landless, came by his knighthood through hard work and bravery."

"A good reason to be given a knighthood."

"Agreed. Nonetheless, my grandfather allowed him to court my mother, or think he was courting her, until it was discovered that my grandfather was planning to marry her to an elderly nobleman of great power and money." 

"They ran away." 

"Aye, they ran away, aided by her own mother and the village priest, who married them before they left. My father supposedly took time to visit his family, across the channel and my mother went to the neighboring village to visit a sick woman. It was her excuse to have full saddle bags," he whispered with a smile. "They had help, including an elder sister in an unhappy marriage arranged by that miserly old man." They traveled to the coast, to Sussex and then up into Wessex. Father had money saved, mother had jewelry, money her mother, her sister gave her. She managed to bring almost all of her jewelry. Much of it was sold when my father bought property and built a home on it." He lifted the sapphire collar. "I believe this was all that was left. This and the rubies." His hands sifted through the things lying on the table. "Other things were purchased at faires. My father was a mercenary, hired by those who needed an armed guard or additional protection at times. Many times, he was paid in precious jewels as much as coin. Or so he said." 

Guy laid down what he had and dug again. "When he went to the Holy Lands, he brought home many gifts the first time, including the document with Henry's royal seal that made him a landed knight, something special indeed. Finally, my mother's family would not be ashamed of us. But we had to move to that land, land here in Nottingham, claim it..." He pulled out another piece of jewelry; a hexagonal locket on a long chain. "Soon after we settled, he left again, seeking more glory, more riches." He held the locket up to the sunlight, the casing spinning madly. "And then we learned he had been killed." He stopped his story there, not willing to continue. To not tell of his mother's affair with Malcolm Locksley, his childish feuding with Robin of Locksley, his father's shame. "The bailiff assigned by the Crown - King Henry I - turned out to be a greedy man, who wanted what he had no right to have and determined to steal it anyway from children." The locket was still spinning, Guy and Genevieve both mesmerized by the colors leaping from it via the sunlight. "This was Mère's. I will see it gets to Isabella." He lowered it suddenly into his hand, clasping it, hiding it from sight. 

"I thought the two of you did not get along." 

"We do not." He laid it still in his hand to the side. "However, she adored our mother and she would want this." 

"That's very nice considering you do not love her." 

"Oh, I do love her, or I did," Guy admitted carefully. "I do love her," he reiterated. "However she blames me for her discontent and desires to make everyone around her equally unhappy." Guy rapped his knuckles against the wood, causing the chain to rattle. "I only did what I thought was best." 

Genevieve waited for him to continue. When he did not, she asked. "What was that?" 

"I found her a husband." Genevieve's face told him exactly what she thought of that. "Ah," he smiled wanly, "I almost forgot. Such is not done in your time."

Genevieve was shaking her head. "We usually marry for love. Or security. But it's our decision, not our parents or brothers." 

Guy had to look up at her. She realized his eyes were bloodshot, as if he had been drinking, which she knew he had not been. "Here, it is the man's duty, whether it be father, brother, uncle, cousin, to make the best possible match for the daughter, sister. One wants her to marry up. A man will look for someone who can take care of her, protect her, provide for her. The less she wants for, the better." Guy's eyes left hers and gazed out the window. The sun was starting to set and the last rays of sunshine poured into the room. The air was cooling, the rain gone for now, but the promise of more was on the wind. "Squire Thornton wanted her. I asked about him, his abilities, his property. She would want for nothing, have food, servants, a roof over her head. It was more than what I could possibly provide for her, certainly more than what I was providing for her." 

"She appeared to be happy about the match. He courted her, despite our poor relation status." The last few words were spat, catching Genevieve's attention. "The day before the wedding, we went into town and I purchased a dress for her. For her wedding." Guy's mind was very far away, away in the past. Genevieve could tell, he could 'see' his sister, in her finery. "She was so beautiful. When I was young, I tripped over my tongue quite often. But she... the dress was blue and it matched her eyes. I have never seen a creature as lovely as she the day she married the Squire. I wanted her to have a home, food...I just wanted her to be happier than I could make her. I never told her she was beautiful." It was quiet for a time, Guy lost in his memories and Genevieve listening to bird song and mulling over what he said. 

"And then?" 

"And then he took her home. I saw her once or twice after that. She seemed content. Happy. Within the year, I started my knight training. And then Vaisey found me; he knew who I was, knew what was done to me, he promised me things, told me things. He was being sent to be the new sheriff of Nottingham and he said he knew how I could get my lands and title back. All I could think of was revenge, regaining what I had lost. I never heard from or saw my sister again." He inhaled. "Until a few months ago, when she showed up, run away from her husband." Guy nodded his head, beckoning Genevieve to kneel down. "She said he was cruel, he was brutal. I saw none of that in him when he married her and she said nothing to me the few times I visited. She has turned into a hateful shrew. I recognize her not." He caressed her ear, her jaw, a touch Genevieve leaned into. 

"And yet, you will give her the locket, despite the bad feelings between the two of you?" 

He closed his eyes and nodded. He then sat up, laying everything to the side and pulled out the last - a small box. 

It was charred, could have been lost in the rubbish, and should have but by some strange bend of fate, was found and placed with the rest of these small treasures. Guy opened it gingerly, as if afraid a fully grown Saracen or possibly Hood would jump out and gullet him. He hooked his pinky and with the trepidation of someone terrified, he scooped the contents from the box.

It was a ring - a man's ring, with a carved insignia. Guy slid it down his finger, obviously made for a thicker digit, the metal loose on his. He flipped it forward, in order to get a closer look at it, his visage now unreadable. "This was my father's crest. His seal." Blinking rapidly, he searched for the leather thong he wore and untying the end, he slid the ring onto it. "'Tis mine now." He closed the lid. 

Genevieve was soft - spoken and certainly not being judgmental. As she talked, it became clear to Guy that regardless of their relationship, their situation, she was still very aware of the differences in their culture and while she wasn't accepting of some things, she felt she tolerated much. 

"This..." she gestured to the things on the table, "this is all of what that man stole from you?" 

"No. He stole my birth right, my home. If I distinguished myself in some way to the King, I have would become the titled Lord of my father's home and land. Even if I did not, it would still have been mine - I would simply have been an untitled landowner. Instead, I have had to begin again, in order to reclaim what was stolen from me." 

Genevieve thought for a moment. "Was this worth killing him for?" She gestured to the things spread out on the table. 

"Genevieve, he stole more from me than this." Guy cocked his head. "In your time, what would they have done to him?" 

"Theft?" She blinked in thought. "Fifteen or twenty years, maybe. In prison." 

"Fifteen or twenty years in a dungeon?" Guy scoffed. "I have never known a man to survive that long in a dungeon." 

"Oh, our prisons are not dungeons," Genevieve admitted. "They are not five star hotels, to be sure, but they certainly aren't dungeons." She frowned. "That's rather inhumane." 

Guy snorted. "Inhumane. It sounds..."

"Soft?" 

"Very." Guy continued to stare out the window. The rain was falling again in earnest, the breeze cool and comfortable in the room, airing out the smell of fire from the box holding Guy's family heirlooms. "Hanging Longthorn was justice now, yet you would have simply put him in a dungeon to rot." He turned a critical eye to her. "What do you think?" 

Genevieve was looking over the items on the table. "I think what you've described is more revenge and vengeance, rather than justice."

Guy nodded. "You are right. His execution did have the stench of vengeance, and truth be told, while I am glad he is dead, I take no joy at his death."

Genevieve tilted her head in question. "Why not?" 

Guy took a moment to formulate his answer. "Because the most precious thing he stole from me cannot be replaced. Ever." 

Genevieve thought. He had his land, his title back. What could possibly...

"Your parents." 

Guy was back to staring out the window, nodding slowly. "True. He stole my family from me. My father, my mother, and in a sense, my sister. He stole my family from me and that can never be returned to me." He gestured to the things on the table. "This is just... trinkets."

Genevieve started to tell him to marry, to begin a new family. Surely, he wanted that when he was engaged to marry Marian. But the truth was, the thought of him marrying someone else, loving someone else, having a family with someone else... burned her. Unless something was worked out...

But she couldn't stay. Her company, her employees needed her... desperately.

_What a predicament. Part of her wanted to stay. Part of her was terrified...girlfriend, you have no right to demand he mourn you the rest of his life when you leave! It's unfair to him!_

"I am ready for a bath, my lady." Guy abruptly changed the subject, invading her thoughts. "Have Eleanor help you with the tub and have her bring up a bottle of wine and two goblets." 

"Guuuuuy!" Genevieve turned red. "Do we want them to know we are bathing together?" 

"Genevieeeeeeeeeeve," he mocked back, "do you think they do not realize we are sleeping together?" Genevieve snapped her mouth shut. "Your bed has not been slept in for two nights." He flung his head in the opposite direction. "I care not if they know or not. Who will gainsay us? The sheriff will not, nor will the Church." He waved her towards the door. "Bath. Wine. No rose petals or scented oil in the water, please." He waited until she left, hearing her go down the hall and call to Eleanor from the railing. When there was abundant noise in the bathing room, Guy picked up the small box that contained his father's signet and reopened it.

In the bottom was a much folded piece of parchment. Somewhere, an agent of God had made sure this small, charred box had not only survived, but protected the things inside and for that Guy was grateful. He gently fished out the thin, fragile sheet of vellum and carefully opened it. 

He gasped when he opened it and saw his father's name signed in his hand at the bottom. It took a moment for him to control his shaking, but finally, he opened the missive. 

_Guy, mon fils._

_Il n'ya pas d'honneur dans les combats. Il n'ya pas de justice pour se venger. Je suis ce que je suis et les anges ont promis de veiller sur vous. Ne pas rechercher le pouvoir ou la célébrité. Prenez soin de votre mère, votre sœur. Vous êtes vraiment l'homme de la maison. Embrassez votre devoir par votre famille d'abord, mais n'oubliez pas de prendre soin et de défendre ceux qui vivent sur vos terres et à vivre par ta grâce. Ils répondront à votre loyauté à leur égard. Se marier par amour, car il n'y a pas de plus grand don de Dieu, que l'amour d'une bonne femme. Vous ferez bien. Vous n'avez pas idée à quel point Je t'aime ou combien je suis fier de vous._

_Votre père, Roger_

 

A wax imprint seal of a wolf from the signet ring Guy now wore around his neck was pressed at the bottom. 

Guy's hand came to his face, covering his mouth and nose. His eyes shut, refusing to allow what he had pent up for over twenty years.

_Fatherly advice. Now you tell me. No honor in revenge, do not seek power or fame. Defend my peasants. Find a good woman. I found one and I killed her. I have found another but she is not of this world. She is destined to leave me. Where are those angels who promised to watch over me now?_

As the paper drifted to the ground, the one thing he had not allowed himself since the day his parents died burst forth against his will. How long he sat there squeaking like a mouse trying to stifle himself, he didn't know. He wasn't aware when Genevieve reentered the room, wasn't aware when she picked up the parchment from the floor, looked it over and laid it within the strong box, ensuring it would not be blown away.

He finally was conscious of her arms around him, cradling his head to her chest. And when that happened, any attempt to control, to contain his long pent-up pain, ceased. His arms wrapped around her like whipcords, as he pulled her in and buried his face in her body, his hands, clinging to her back. 

And she allowed him his grief with no words, no meaningless or even compassionate condolences. Only her presence, her comfort, her willingness to allow him this time of utterly simplistic heartache. 

For where is it written that a man should not cry? That it robs them of any decency? 

"Did you read it?" He finally poured himself out, his face still buried between her breasts. 

"I can't read French, Guy. I only recognize your name at the top and your father's name at the bottom." It was quiet while he finished getting control of himself. "He wrote it to you and my guess is you've never seen it before now. It must have said something dear." 

As Guy pulled himself back, he wiped his nose on his sleeve, something Genevieve thought he must have done a lot as a child. "Advice. He gave me advice that I received twenty years too late." 

Genevieve began to brush the long locks of hair backwards, behind him. "Oh, I have found that advice given anytime; can be received anytime and is never too late. It's simply how you chose to utilize it." She stepped away as he turned her loose, obviously not embarrassed by his breakdown. "The bath is ready. Come and join me. It will make you feel better." She started to pull away, but he held her hands tight. 

"I am sorry. I should not have... you should not have witnessed... that." 

"Witnessed what?" Her tone was gentle, more than he expected. "Twenty years of grief that was clawing inside you to break free? Witness that? You need to grieve, Guy. That was something you should have been allowed to do a long time ago. I am sorry you've not been able to. I can't imagine how much you hurt." She tugged backwards again, drawing on his hands still clasped in hers. "Please come." She waggled her eyebrows. "There is wine..." 

Realizing she was not going to deride him for his lapse of control, the knight stood up and followed her out. 

But not before checking to make sure that precious letter was safe.

_**~~~...~~~** _

"I could get used to this."

Genevieve sat between Guy's legs, her head soaped up on top of her head and the knight's fingers sunk all the way in it, massaging her scalp. She was amazed how quickly he seemed to get control of himself, although his eyes were still slightly reddened. Genevieve had washed his hair first; she insisted, and now he was returning the favor. 

He was hard. She had a feeling their idyllic, relaxing time in the tub was going to be ... well... short...

Soon after they had gotten in together, he handed her a small square wrapped in rough cloth. The soap smelled of roses, other floral things. She started to ask him if he didn't like the lavender scent on her, but realized before opening her mouth that the soap, along with the original clothing, had come from Marian and perhaps the scent brought back painful memories. 

But that was fine. She liked the scent of roses better and let him know it. And while he was smiling, she let him know she noticed he didn't smell like lavender OR roses and she found the more masculine scent to fit him quite well. His response was to growl seductively in her ear and nip at her earlobe.

She was ensconced between his legs, his erection pressed needfully against the cleft of her cheeks and while he again soaped her back, he was not content to massage her shoulders. Slowly, his hands made larger arcs, under her arms and after much teasing and foreplay, cupped her breasts, encasing them in his hands and pulled her higher onto his lap, so he teased her from stem to stern. Now in a more pleasing position, he pressed his suit, her nipples taunted into painful stiffness. Pressing both into one hand, beneath long fingers, he brought his now freed hand around, pulling her dripping hair back over her other shoulder, leaving her neck, ear, and collar bone bare and exposed to him. 

He set his mouth to them, starting with her earlobe, his tongue darting within that dark, dainty cavern. Genevieve squirmed when he began to suck on her earlobe.

She undulated against him, trying, working to impale herself, but a whispered 'no' stopped that. She than reached between her legs, emboldened by the power he had given her. Rather than allow her to complete her task, Guy grasped her forearms and laying them across her chest, he imprisoned her in his embrace. "Trust me to see to you," he whispered. 

Her response was a whimper, when he returned to his task on her neck. 

For long minutes, his tongue teased, worried, the bare skin of her throat and neck. He discovered that beautiful spot beneath her ear, the one that made her cry out, beg and plead and when she was ready to scream her frustration, he leaned her forward, bade her to grasp the edge of the tub, and entered her. 

_Yesssssssssssss_

For a time, he was content for the two of them to splash water into the floor. Genevieve had laid her face upon her hands, clasping the rim, her eyes closed in repose and smiling slightly. He combed her hair with his fingers, bringing it back into one - albeit short - tail, and grasped it like a rein, pulling her head slightly back. 

"Genevieve?" 

"Hmmm?"

_smack_

His hand popped her right butt cheek, the print of his fingers coming up in a glowing, pink blush. The pain was minute, but it got her attention. Her eyes popped open. "Wha?"

"That," he whispered, pulling her head back by the hair, wrapped around his hand, "was for using profanity in Clun." He watched her blink, trying to remember. "I believe your words were to the affect that you could damn well mount that horse by yourself." Her eyes opened wider at the memory, but before she could say anything, a more heated sting swatted her left cheek. "And that was for telling every sparrow, deer and outlaw within listening distance in Sherwood Forest yesterday that you were my fuck toy and personal whore." He popped the cheek again, causing her to squeal in indignation. "After I had specifically told you I do not like your rubbish mouth." He began to pick up the pace, before leaning over and whispering in her ear. "What do you say?" 

"I won't do it again." 

She clenched. 

_Oh, she is working for it._

He smacked her arse cheek again. "What was that?" 

"I said I won't do it again." 

He smacked the other side. Again, it was not an attempt to bring pain, to hurt, simply raise the heat. "Properly." 

"No sir, not without your permission." 

"That is better." He turned her hair loose and reached around, finding her, manipulating, in full control, until she built, peaked. Not once did he tease, bring her up to let her down. Instead he allowed her to find her own rhythm, waited for her, watched and turned that small part of her loose, cupping her around her throat, tipping her had back as far as it would go while she finished, pushing against him. Just as she climbed that last bit, her thrashing becoming more uninhibited, he leaned over and whispered in her ear.

"Curse."

"FUCK!ohshitohshitohfuuuuuuuuuckohshitshitshitshitfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck..."

In the throes of her orgasm, Genevieve was not aware that some bit of the shaking she was experiencing was Guy pressed against her firmly, laughing at her verbal outburst to himself.

It wasn't until she was finished, exhausted, when she leaned back on her knees, sitting on his thighs, that she realized he was still hard and encased within her. She leaned fully back, her head on Guy's shoulder, her throat exposed. Not moving, with the exception of his fingers, stroking the white expanse of her neck, his hand holding her close, tightly to him. Yet again, his lips found their way to her ear. 

"Genevieve?" 

"Hmmmmm?" 

"I am not finished." 

Genevieve snickered tiredly and wiggled. "Somehow, I kinda figured that out." 

"Turn around." 

He helped her stand, turn, as he moved to the far side of the tub, helping her settle back on her knees, resting on his thighs, as she sank again on him. Guy rained feather-like butterfly kisses about her as she moved slowly, neither not really moving towards their own completion, but nonetheless, keeping him in a state of consistent arousal. His hands were at her back, her shoulder blades, as he moved pressed her to him. "Genevieve. Look at me." She opened her eyes, to gaze into eyes that were normally grey, the color of glass and storm, but at this moment, were blue, as blue as the sapphire collar...

All movement stopped. 

"Kiss me. Kiss me like you wish to be kissed." 

This was an odd turn of events for her. She liked being beneath, being held, being kissed. But in the past, it meant her needs weren't met. Guy watched her eyes flutter, trying to take in all of him, his eyes, his lips, his nose... it was as if she couldn't decide where to start and this, deep inside, amused him. 

"Now, Genevieve." 

Guy's hair was wet, lying in long ringlets down the sides of his face. She pushed it back with her finger tips, in a sense, exposing him, all of his features to her. When she leaned in, their noses bumped. Before he could recoil, she clasped her fingers behind his neck, in an attempt to hold him still, her thumbs beneath his ears. 

Her nose traced his, and when she reached his lip, she kissed the top of the cupid's bow, nuzzling it, tasting, before sucking it in. She tasted him, explored him with the lightest of touches, the barest flicker of tongue. 

She encompassed his mouth, inhaling him, all of him, before nipping his bottom lip.

At that point, Guy decided play time was over, and took over, mimicking her touch, her tongue, before inhaling her and invading that heated cavern. 

Some would compare their tongues to swords, battling for control, but it was a dance, a give and take, for neither was going to give an inch to the other. His hand drifted from her shoulders, down the spine of her back, the indention before her hips, before encasing the cheeks with his hands and spreading them. His fingers pressed in the cleft, roaming downwards, and he allowed one finger to tease that tight rosette.

She stiffened, pulled back, her gasp, very audible.

"Mine." 

This did not relax her. 

"Genevieve." Guy's voice was calm, quiet. "No one has been there, correct?" 

"Correct." Breathy. Fear. He caught the fear. Fear of the unknown? Fear of pain? 

"I will not hurt you. When I decide to take you there, you will be prepared and ready. Trust me?" Genevieve's head was down, his index finger still pressed against her anus, the part in her hair, almost as red as the rubies in his mother's necklace. "Genevieve?" Trust me?" 

She nodded.

"Then relax. Trust me. If you wish to stop, tell me. But you will have to tell me _why_ you wish me to stop." He circled it again. "Lay your head on my shoulder and relax." 

Genevieve did such, still frightened and Guy could tell, still tight. "This will be more difficult if you do not relax." He reached over to the table and handed her a goblet. "Finish the wine." 

She grasped the goblet and took a sip. "I'll be limp as a dishrag." 

"Well, then I suppose that would be the intent, would it not?" He circled, teased while she lay on his shoulder, drinking wine. He alternated from teasing her, stroking her, to abandoning that darker, tighter region and petting her. When she finished the goblet and was leaning heavily on him, he again taunted the edge of that tightly wound knot.

Unmoving, she lay there, waiting... 

He slid his finger in.

He got to the first knuckle.

"BANANA!" 

He stopped, his finger still embedded. "Ba-wa-wot?" 

She had her faced turned away from him, so he could not see her embarrassed blush. "Banana. Safe word. Means stop." He did not withdraw. "You said you would stop if I asked. Banana. That means stop." 

"I have stopped. I have gone no further," he retorted gently. "Why?" Guy was still trying to wrap his mind around this unknown and unusual word...banana. "Am I hurting you?" 

"No." 

"Then..." He realized she was panting...trying to catch her breath or something else... "Are you frightened?" 

"Yes." 

"Why?" 

She lifted her head from his shoulder, now sitting straight up. "Guy, that's my _ass_! I... do things down there!" 

"I had no idea," he deadpanned. "Truthfully Genevieve, you 'do things' with the part I am currently embedded in and you had no problem when I put my mouth there the night before last. In fact," he tapped her nose with his finger, "you do more than one thing with that part." His finger slid from her body. "We made it that far. It is a start. We will try again later." 

"We will discuss it!" she retorted.

"We will discuss it," he acquiesced, "and then we will try again. Later." 

Again, his hands spanned her backside, kneading, moving her against him. His mouth returned to hers, her skin, whispering in it, the things he desired, what he wanted to do to her. She stiffened once when he reiterated his desire to press her to the bed, his prick completely embedded to the hilt...

And soon, she was completely distracted by the heat he was regenerating within her. The room was steamy from their love-making, their passion. And in that passion, Guy became harder, his need, insistent. 

"Do you remember what you confessed to me on our ride?" The knight was breathing hard, holding back, his mouth tracing her jawline.

Genevieve was lost in a haze. "We... uhm... discussed a lot of things on our ride." 

"What you think about. What you want."

_I want to taste you. I want to wear you..._

"Oh. OH! That... that's not... you know... necessary..."

His mouth was still creating havoc at her jawline. "Oh, but it is necessary." 

_I want to be your last desire..._

Genevieve found herself being moved back, sliding backwards on her knees, as Guy stood up. 

Water cascaded down his body, and again, Genevieve looked up, amazed at perfection before her. Tall, lithe, well-muscled, even in heavy, mailed clothing, the man moved with a panther-like grace, more so when he was naked...

_Girlfriend, what the hell did you ever see in Lamar?_

...and amazingly hard, his member pointing straight upward, the vein on the underside standing out and slick with her juices. She started to reach out, to stroke, but having second thoughts, especially about the path they were taking, she upped the ante. 

 

Genevieve settled back on the backs of her lower legs, hands resting on her thighs, eyes down, palms up. 

"Please, may I, sir?"

Guy's mouth curved in a smirk. "Please, sir. I like this game you play. Later, you must tell me the rules, but for now..." he touched her head, "do as you wish." One finger traced down her nose. "Just make sure you look at me when you do." 

Her touch was tentative, the initial stroke, hesitant and for a moment, Guy wondered what frightened her. He didn't understand her; one heartbeat, she would be bold and the next, painfully shy. Considering her reluctance at some things, he realized she worried of perhaps disappointing him or worse, considering her reaction to his more wanton desire to possess all of her, terrified of disgusting him. She wanted to experiment, that was obvious, but in some ways, she was skittish as a virgin. 

Guy knew where he had been, the depravities he had seen and had participated in. He had never taken an unwilling maid, instead preferred an experienced women. But typically, once he had his way with one, he paid them, if they were the type to be paid, and never looked back. 

Except Annie... who _had_ been a virgin and innocent and while that was fleeting, she was comfort to him when there was no comfort found in this hell he called 'life'. 

And Genevieve. Guy had already decided he was willing to bargain with the Devil to keep her at his side. She was different, something...

_He had been convinced Marian's goodness would save him, cleanse his wretched soul of the darkness that abided within. But now... now..._

Her hand coasted upwards, her fingers curved around his shaft. As she reached the top, she pulled around the head and gently drew him upwards, exposing more of him to her, 

"Genevieve..."

She didn't move, her eyes simply looked up, her teeth biting her bottom lip, the heat... the want...

His response was a mere whisper.

"Go ahead. Taste."

With an evil smile, her head delved sideways, as she closed in, her tongue flicking close to places she asked him not to venture, something Guy would find amusing, had he not been struggling to keep himself upright. _Damn, if she is not close to kissing my arse!_ She moved upwards, hungering for flesh and feasting on it. As she reached the base of his rod, her tongue began to flick, thoroughly driving him to the edge of his control. 

For some minutes, he watched her, kept eye contact... _what was it about a woman on her knees, committing the basest, most primitive sexual act designed to do nothing but give a man pleasure...and enjoying it..._

He thought he was in control, thought he was in charge, in complete command of his facilities, until she reached his head and pulled back the foreskin.

He was glistening, weeping, if you will. She licked upward, across the bulb, around the head...

_Look at me..._

...she inhaled, taking him in, the most sensitive part of him, sliding the roof of her mouth before sucking further in. She pulled back, releasing him and again, made love to his shaft, teasing him, one hand stroking, the other hand cupping his balls, gently teasing the underneath. 

Guy allowed her to minister to him, taunt him, bring him to that point and then draw away, putting off the inevitable. It occurred to him if he ever allowed her to tie him up -

_...reward..._

\- she would have him screaming for completion. The woman was a tease of the best sort. 

_Gisborne, if you do not do something immediately, she will completely unman you... not that that is a bad thing, but..._

Threading his fingers from one hand in the roots of her hair, he pulled her back, taking himself in hand and began to stroke, carefully selecting his aim. So it was with some consternation that when Genevieve realized his intent on where he intended to spill himself, she pulled back further and turned her head, closing her eyes and grimacing.

"Genevieve. Look at me." 

She did from the side of one opened eye, not turning her head. 

He was close, so close. Talking was a chore. " _GENEVIEVE!_ " 

The first hot burst landed on her collarbone, the second one to the right. Her hands grabbed him, just as he turned loose and before the third spurt, she put him back in her mouth, taking... taking... taking...

When the last of him was done, swallowed, he sank to his knees in front of her, all of him slipping from her hands. Gasping for breath, but still trying to keep of fingerhold of control, he grabbed the washcloth they had hung on the side and swished it across her chest. He dropped it in the now cool water, and tipped her head back. 

There was not a drop left on her mouth and he kissed her, tasting his remnants as his tongue flicked in her mouth. Making sure she was as breathless as he, he whispered into her lips, "Genevieve forgot to tell me something very important." He held her tight, not allowing her to move away, waiting for her to look at him. "Genevieve? What did you forget to tell me?" Her eyes fell. "Genevieve. Look at me and tell me what you forgot to tell me." 

"I think you've figured it out."

"I believe I _told_ you to tell me." 

Again, she bit her lip, blinking rapidly. "I don't like it on my face," she whispered. "Everywhere else. But I don't like it there." 

He leaned over and pulled the plug from the drain. "Listen to me." He pulled her close and tucked the hair behind her ear in order to whisper into it. "Tell me when you are afraid. Tell me you do not like something. How am I supposed to know if you do not like something, if you do not tell me? Tell me why. We will work through it together. If it is a legitimate fear, I will protect you. If it is something we do together, tell me why it frightens you and we will address it. I want to explore places and go places neither of us have ever been together." Cupping her chin in both hands, he lifted her face, placing the sweetest kiss upon her mouth. "You have said you trust me. Do so." 

He helped her from the tub and led her to his room, uncaring they left a trail of wet footprints on the wood floor. The fire in his fireplace had begun to die down but the room felt good with the rain, so even though Guy restoked it, he left the shutters open. Together, they put the precious jewelry back in the jewelry box and Genevieve watched as Guy reverently folded that precious letter from his father and placed it back in its charred case. He laughed about the bottle of wine and two chalices left on the table for them, just in case.

He pulled her close as he tucked her into the bed beside him, their nude bodies heating each other. 

"I do not like arguing with you." He watched her nod in agreement. "Neither one of us rested well last night and our time is limited." 

Genevieve's eyes popped open and looked at him in horror. "But-"

His fingers, which had been caressing her throat, moved up, covering her lips. "Do not deny it. Our time is limited. We both know that. The moment you finish and understand that contract, I fear the One who brought you here, will snatch you away. Away from here, away from me. I dread he will steal you from my very embrace. I fear I will not remember you. My greatest fear is you will remember me and think I was nothing but a nightmare." He trailed kisses over her forehead. "I want to cherish what we have, for as long as we have. So, no more arguing." 

"But what if I-"

"Ba-na-nah," he interrupted, clearly not wishing to continue that conversation. "What is this and why did you say it?" 

Genevieve's hands tucked under her chin and his chin resting on her head. Her feet were tucked between his legs. "It's a safe word," she yawned. 

"A safe word?" 

"Yes." 

"And why would you need a safe word for me? Am I not safe?" 

She giggled at that, the vibration from her chest reverberating through his. "It's used when couples who enjoy The Lifestyle need a break, need a rest, have been pushed to their limits."

"Why not say stop?" Guy was yawning now.

"Because, Guy. Just because."

He started to ask her what The Lifestyle was, but Genevieve had already found the Sleep of the Dead.

But Guy... Guy did not.

_**~~~...~~~** _

_He was tied up. Tied up and blind-folded and gagged and sagging against a tree._

_He could smell the bark_

_He recalled this day. Like it was yesterday. This day had been the party, the day he announced to the world, She had finally agreed to marry him. It should have been one of the happiest days of his life._

_Should have been._

_He could smell the leaves._

_Even after Hood and his gang had crashed the party, stolen her ring, a ring he had made for Her, something... beautiful... dainty...as She, he had gone after him, if for nothing else, just to get the ring._

_Except he knew the moment he exited the door, there would be a fight. Hopefully a fight to Hood's death, because Hood had discovered his secret._

_He could hear the ants in the tree next to his head._

_But things do not always happen the way one plans and Guy found himself tied a tree, blindfolded..._

_He could smell the fire._

_I should have made sure he was dead in Acre. All of this would have not been an issue had I checked, made sure..._  
  
 _But Robin proved to be the biggest hypocrite of them all, for all of his high and mighty Give To the Poor, Justice for the King pretty speeches... he was just as willing to take 'justice' into his own hands, just like The Sheriff._

_Just like Guy._

_He could smell the burning steel._

_So the only thing Guy could do was wait it out. Pretend to be unconscious and listen._

_Funny, when one of your senses is rendered useless, how the other senses kick in, become more acute. He heard birdsong he normally did not hear. He could hear breathing, Much more than likely. Much who deserved a better master than Hood._   
_  
He could hear the squirrel above him, chittering._

_Show me an argument that was ever settled with bloodshed. Did you not tell me that?_

_When all was said and done, Guy thought he should send something to Much. A chicken or somesuch to roast. Allan, he knew could be bought._

_And who was this Jack person they were so worried about?_

_He could hear the flies about him..._

_He sagged further, trying to hear..._

_Let us have a king who will fight for our gain, not for the Pope's..._

_He could hear..._

_Look at you now, Robin of Locksley. You are just a common outlaw._

_He could smell..._

_He could hear..._

_Choices..._

_You didn't seem uncomfortable..._

_He could hear... someone shifting on the ground._

_He could hear the leaves rustle..._

_He could hear..._

_He could smell..._

_He could hear..._

_I have to kill him..._

_He could smell..._

_Lavender..._

_Lavender..._

_He could smell lavender. He could smell..._

_Her. He could smell Her._

_Lavender. He smelled her. Why hadn't he noticed that? Marian was there. Marian, on the day he announced their engagement, was in the woods with Robin. He heard her voice on the wind, whispering. He smelled her._  
  
 _She was there. She was there._

_It took everything he had in him not to scream. What did it matter? Marian was dead. He could not undo it. She forced him, she..._

_She never loved him._   
_  
He needed air, he was gasping, all of a sudden choking on the stench of burning lavender..._

_He tried to claw at the gag in his mouth, anything, choking, coughing._

_Stop it Guy. It's over. She knows... she knows...she knew all along. So stop it. It's over..._   
_  
Guy, stop it... Guy st-_

_**~~~...~~~** _

"-op it, Guy. Guy. Wake up! Please, wake up!"

Guy's eyes popped open, the warmth and weight of Genevieve against him. The scent of roses...

The sheets were tangled about him; he was in a sweat...

"Genevieve?" 

In the moonlight, he focused on her, could see the concern in her eyes. The sheet had fallen, one breast exposed, the nipple puckered in the coolness of the night. She stroked his face. "Ah, you're all sweaty. What a nightmare you had." 

He gasped for breath. "Awful. Memories. I am sorry, I did not wish to disturb..."

Genevieve disentangled herself from him, the sheets, she slid over the edge of the bed and he watched her as she moved to the table and poured him a drink. He gladly took it from her when she returned and she watched him drain it. He handed her the cup. "I thank you." 

"Don't mention it." She set it down on the floor and climbed back into the bed. "I imagine opening that box freed a bunch of memories you've not thought about in years. On your stomach." 

"Genevieve-"

"On your stomach, my lord." It sounded funny coming from her lips. "I'm awake and I think maybe I should repay the favor from last week." 

"What favor would that be?" He rolled over anyway, anything to appease her, get her settled in and back to sleep. Tomorrow, they would spend it in bed, as they originally planned. 

And they would start working their way past her ridiculous fear of him playing with delightful things he wanted to play with.

_**~~~...~~~** _

He should leave it alone. He should leave Guy alone, Robin knew this. Tuck and Much were looking at Gisborne in a new light after that morning's entertainment. A better light. Kate still hated Gisborne, she always would. John was distrustful, but Allan had started talking about the lighter side of Gisborne and Tuck was talking salvation and 'making peace' and forgiveness...

 _Peace. I'll show you peace. Forgiveness? When the man is dead, I'll forgive him!_ Robin crested the hill and using the tubed magnifying glass Will and Djaq gave him before he left Acre, he peered at the master bedroom of his home. Usurped by that murderer and traitor. 

There was a low light. From the fireplace, most likely. Shadows played and danced on the wall. He set the seeing glass down and pulled two arrows from his quiver, nocking them and taking aim...

_**~~~...~~~** _

Now she sat on his back, only she was naked and he could feel her, on his hips. She was wet and Guy was thinking perhaps, just perhaps, they would not go back to sleep just yet. There was no oil, but there was her delightful fingers and all that delightful moving around. And all the while she chattered quietly and it didn't bother him.

The peace and quiet of the night was shattered with a single yell. 

**GISBORNE!!!**

The sound of flight exploded in the room, an arrow hitting the headboard of the bed, above Guy's head. Guy jerked up, Genevieve sliding from him, limp, as he pulled the arrow from the headboard. "Hood! You bas-"

"Guy?" Genevieve's voice was soft, quiet. "Guy?" 

No. Her voice was shaking. He turned, his eyes widening in horror. 

Genevieve sat on her knees, eyes large. She started to list to the side. 

"Genevieve. Do not move." He put his hand on her shoulders and tipped her back up. 

"Guy?" 

"Yes, my lady. Do not move. Let me get-"

"Why does my shoulder blade sting? Did something bite me? I'm scared to look."

She needed to be. Guy was scared _for_ her. 

"Lean forward against me. Let me look." Guy's voice was much more controlled than he thought he could manage. 

Genevieve leaned forward, he felt her tears on his shoulder as he brought her down on her stomach.

With Hood's arrow protruding from her back.

_tbc_

_**~~~...~~~** _

_**... the sound you make the second you're done...** _

_**~~~...~~~** _

[](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/ZeeDippyVessel/media/Fic%20Artwork/18tumblr_mqacpwAcSi1sqicm1o1_500_zps87fe0d86.jpg.html)  


Guy, my son.

There is no honor in fighting. There is no justice in revenge. I am what I am and the angels have promised to watch over you. Do not seek power or fame. Take care of your mother, your sister. You are truly the man of the house. Embrace your duty by your family first, but do not forget to take care of and defend those who live on your lands and live by your grace. They will respond to your loyalty to them. Marry for love, for there is no greater gift from God, than the love of a good woman. You will do well. You have no idea how much I love you or how proud I am of you. 

Your father, Roger


	20. 19 ...but...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Actually, a note - I wanted to thank everyone who is reading and especially those who have reviewed. I so appreciate the fact you all take time to read this piece of silliness and then tell me. Thank you all, so very much.

_**Manna from Heaven** _

_**Chapter 19** _

_**...but...** _

"Guy?"

Realizing Genevieve had been shot, Guy forced himself to contain and ignore his fury - something he didn't like to do and truth be told, had very little experience at doing. He eased her face down on the bed. 

"Guy?"

"Shhh. It will be fine. Do not move." As soon as she was on her stomach, he slid off the bed, not wishing to jar her. He pulled the curtains back from the track on the ceiling and stoking the fire in the fireplace, lit a taper and lit the lamp next to the bed.

"He shot me," the woman in his bed whimpered. "That bastard shot me!" 

Guy blew the taper out and using the globed lamp, took a closer look at her shoulder. "Aye. He did." Gently, he pressed around the wound. No need to ask who the bastard was.

"If I die, I'll haunt his days and his nights."

Asserting that the arrow had not punctured any vital organs, Guy's main concern now was the barb on the arrow. "You are not going to die."

"Promise?" 

"I promise." There was not enough light for him to take a good, close look at the point of entry. "I need more light, Genevieve. Just breath normally."

She was now crying. "Dammit. He shot me. Why'd he shoot me? I didn't do anything to him! Can we take this out, please?" 

For a moment, he thought of sending for Isabella. Surely she had some of their mother's skill in the healing arts, but on second thought, he decided against it. He wouldn't put it past the scornful bitch to poison Genevieve in some way. "I need to find the other arrow, find out what kind of barb is on it." Guy relit the taper and was now looking on the floor, lighting other lamps. Finally, he spied where he had slung the second dart and inspected it.

_Tapered... no barb...no metal point..._

"Barb? What do you mean? I mean, I don't know anything about barbs or arrows and why'd he shoot me?" Genevieve was beginning to ramble, most likely from fear and shock. 

Realizing that if he didn't calm her down soon and quickly, she would become hysterical and he certainly did not want that. Squatting down next to the bed, Guy cupped her face. "Genevieve, look at me." Her eyes were darting everywhere, before finally focusing on his face. "I think I can take the arrow out-"

"Think? _Think?_ You THINK?"

He pressed a finger to her lips. "- but I need hot water and a few healing herbs and more light. It does not look as if it has hit anything important-"

"Nothing important? Just me and I guess I'm not important!" 

His mouth found hers, quietly, hushing her. "Genevieve, you are very important. The arrow missed your lungs and your heart, for which I am grateful and I pray it has not embedded in bone. But I need to remove it and right now I need you to lie still. Very still. Understand?" She nodded. "Good girl." Throwing the quilt over her lower limbs, he disregarded his own nudity and yanked the door open into the gloomy dark of the household. As he stepped into the hallway, the coldness of the hall bathed him with a vicious, frigid breeze, making his nipples pucker and his member shrivel closer to his body. 

"JOFFREY!" It took several seconds before he heard his guard stumble from the guard room where he had been sleeping. "Are you alone?" 

"No," Joffrey was rubbing his eyes. "Donald is 'ere; so's Simeon."

"Wake them up. I need hot water. A great deal of hot water! Stoke the fireplaces, all of them, now!" As he turned to return to the room, he saw Joffrey's look of confusion. "Hood shot Genevieve." There was noise, sounds of booted feet hitting the floor, chairs scrapping the wooden floor as Guy turned. 

He needed to get that arrow out of her shoulder. It was going to bleed like a stuck pig when he did it, so he needed linen, bandages. 

For not the first time, he internally degraded himself for not knowing where things were at in his own home. Thinking quickly, he went into the bath room, grabbing the discarded bath linens from the floor, and the wash cloth. There was one small bucket of water left and stuffing the damp linens under one arm, he picked up the bucket by the handle.

Genevieve was still crying when he returned to the room. Grabbing his wash basin, he poured some of the water into it, pouring more into the small cauldron that hung in the fireplace. 

"Guy?" 

"Shh." He grabbed the linens from the floor and began to stuff them around her shoulders, between her body and the mattress. Pulling the wash cloth from the pile, he dipped it into the wash basin, its water cold, icy, and he wrung it out. "This might be a little cold and it might sting." He wrapped the wet, frigid cloth around the shaft, feeling her shudder, before grasping the shaft. Making sure he had it at the proper angle, he pulled gently. Seeing it move, he thanked God that the arrow had imbedded itself in that small spot in her shoulder where there was no bone and that it wasn't horribly deep. He eased it out, quickly putting the cloth over the wound and pressed, trying his best to ignore Genevieve's gasp of pain and not doing very well. "'Tis out now, Genevieve. Breathe." Guy turned the arrow upwards, inspecting the shaved, pointed tip. Like its counterpart, there was no metal barb or covering on the end, meaning the chances of splinters being left behind were great. That worried him. 

Joffrey chose that moment to rush the room, a steaming bucket in each hand. "Where do you wan-" He realized both Lord and Lady were naked. His eyes went towards the ceiling. "-ant these?" 

"Set them down on the floor!" Guy rolled his eyes. "And then come press on this cloth. Oh stop it! I know you are not a virgin and you have seen a naked body before!" When Joffrey sat on the bed and put his hand on the cloth, Guy then got up from the bed and went into his clothing area. Grabbing two pairs of loose sleeping trousers, he pulled one on and slung the other pair on the chair next to the bed. Taking back over from Joffrey, he pulled the sheet up to Genevieve's armpits and continued to press, looking to confirm she was bleeding heavily. "Do you know where Fiona keeps the healing herbs and oils?" 

Joffrey shook his head. "Whenever I've 'ad injuries, Thornton cleaned 'em up." Guy looked up and stared at him. "I s'pose you'll be wantin' me to get 'im then, right?" He dropped his head; anything to keep from looking at the exposed skin of Genevieve on the bed. "Why d'aye ask? O' course y'will."

"Before you go," Guy lifted the compress, scowled at the amount of blood still discharging profusely, "bring me every wash cloth you can find. And soap." He continued to press against the wound, until Joffrey brought the items requested. The guard was quickly followed by the other two guards carrying more hot water. Setting the cauldrons on the stone hearth of the fireplace, he bid them to boil more and to be prepared. He lifted the cloth again, this time relieved that the blood flow was beginning to recede somewhat.

"Genevieve?" 

"Whaaaaaaaaaaat?" she wailed.

"Thornton will be here shortly. Do you want him to see you unclothed?" Her head jerked up, horror in her eyes. "I thought as much. How high can you pull those loose trousers?" 

"Not high enough," she gritted between her teeth. 

In the end, Guy somehow managed to get one of his old shirts on her, pulling it on over her hips, so the neckline was snug under her arms and tied it around with the sleeves. "I never thought I would use one of my garments for such," he muttered. 

Genevieve was starting to moan again. Moving around caused the wound to throb and it was apparent to Guy that the lady in his bed had a very low threshold for pain. Dipping a fresh cloth into the now hot water, he began to clean the wound as best he could, without jarring her. He thought to give her some wine, but figured he might want to wait. 

He didn't hear Thornton come in, or Fiona. When his steward finally managed to wrangle what had happened to Genevieve from a distraught Joffrey, he sent him to rouse Fiona across the way, the two of them showing up to Sir Guy's home at the same time. Guy was busy placating Genevieve when they entered the room. Seeing the number of bloody cloths on the floor, Thornton immediately lowered the chandelier and began to light the candles. 

Fiona tapped Guy on the shoulder. "Let me have a closer look." Guy slid sideways, propping Genevieve's head in his lap. She had calmed down somewhat, but was hiccupping. The housekeeper lifted the cloth and set it aside, peering at the injury. "This might hurt, Lady Genevieve." Taking the taper Thornton held, she looked closely, prodding it, and making Genevieve squawk. "It is quite deep, Sir Guy. It might need to be sewn."

"What? What?" Genevieve who had been trying her best to stay calm now threw her head up, to look at Fiona. Gently, Guy pushed her head back into his lap. To the best of her knowledge, this time period didn't have anything to numb the area; she would feel the needle over and over. In fact, she remembered quite clearly the trip to the museum when she was ten - physicians and healers used leeches to suck the 'bad' blood out.

And truth was, Genevieve was a big baby when it came to pain and she would be screaming holy hell if they brought some blood sucking worm to attach itself to her body.

By God, if they wanted something to suck her blood, Matthew Clairmont, from that book about witches her receptionist was reading and going on and on and on about was the only one coming near her! 

"Then we need a healer." Guy was trying to ignore Genevieve while at the same time keeping her still in his lap. "Is there a healer in Nottingham?" 

"There is the Sheriff's physician." 

Guy shook his head. "He is a quack." 

That stirred Genevieve up. "A quack? NO! No! I do NOT need anybody! Especially a quack! No leeches!" 

Fiona lifted the bloody cloth. "Lady Genevieve, I need you to stay calm. You are only making it bleed worse." 

"Sir Guy," Thornton began softly, "the only other healer I know of, the sheriff attempted to kill. She disappeared when he tried to dunk her."

Guy began to stroke Genevieve's hair from her face. She was quiet for now, but he feared she would take the tremors. "Send for Joffrey."

"Press on that, Sir Guy." Fiona waited for Guy to press the rag into Genevieve's shoulder, effectively putting pressure on the wound. "I will go make a very strong willow bark tea and bring up the healing herbs from the kitchen." The woman left the room with a quiet efficiency that made the Lord of the House grateful she had not left when he took over Locksley. 

"Sir Guy, if I might suggest." Thornton was standing quietly by the bed. 

"Suggest." 

The man scowled, obviously having difficulty with what he was about to propose. "There is rumor of a ... wandering friar... who is knowledgeable in many things-"

"Tuck. 'Tis no rumor." Guy took his eyes off Genevieve, who had gone very still, only her rapid, shallow breathing gave any indication that she lived. "He is a member of Hood's Gang. I would be most aggrieved if a member of my own staff knew how to reach him." Thornton drew up, schooling his features and praying he had not given away too much. "It would mean they were associating with outlaws. I would not be so forgiving." Before he could continue, there was a thundering up the stairs and Joffrey burst into the room. 

"Sir Guy-"

Guy's attention was now back on Genevieve. She was staring straight ahead, panting. She needed to compose herself. Her head rested on his knee and unconsciously, he stroked her hair, keeping it off her face, in a sense, attempting to calm her. "Do you remember the healer the sheriff tried as a witch?" Joffrey sucked his breath in. "Come now, Joffrey. I know you are seeing her daughter. Rosa? I believe that is her name?" 

"Sir Guy, Matilda moved far from 'ere."

"Not so far from her only kin; do not take me for a fool." Guy's free hand now rested gently on Genevieve's cheek. "I know she now abides deep in the forest and the peasants seek her remedies. I have ignored this information and will continue to ignore it, if you will go fetch her." Joffrey opened his mouth, but shut it quickly with Guy's continued terse voice. "She has every right to fear the sheriff, but he is not here and I have no reason to arrest her or have any reason to believe she is anything but a healer. She has no reason to fear me." Guy's eyes turned a dark, stormy grey. "I will pay her well." 

"She doesn't use leeches, does she?" It was the first sound Genevieve had uttered in some time.

If anything softened Joffrey, it was that. "No, Lady Genevieve. Matilda is skilled in 'erb-lore. I'll go 'n ask. No' promisin' anythin'. I'll leave firs' thin' in t'mornin'-" 

"You will leave now," Guy ordered quietly. "Take a lamp with you and travel as quickly as you can." 

Fiona returned, with a steaming cup, followed closely by Thornton, who was carrying several canisters and earthen bottles. "The tea," she motioned to Guy, "has willow bark and chamomile. I'm no healer and I've no experience sewing a person-"

"Joffrey has gone to fetch Matilda, if she will come." 

"What if she doesn't come, Sir Guy?" Thornton asked tentatively. 

"I will go get her, much like I did the last time." He motioned to the things Thornton was carrying. "What is that?" 

"Cone flower and olive oil," Fiona answered. "I can make a salve with it and it will starve off infection, until someone more knowledgeable can look at it."

"Hand me the tea." Guy motioned for the small goblet. "Make what you need." 

It took some time, with Guy growling why this was not made up in advance just in case and attempting to get the vile tasting stuff down Genevieve's throat. Most of it, Guy decided, ended up dribbling down his thigh. The sun was coming up before Fiona had something greasy and oily spread all over the wound and Genevieve's back shoulder. Finally, Genevieve managed to doze off, her breathing evened out, and Guy, after sliding a pillow beneath her head to replace his now wet and asleep thigh, eased out from under her. 

"You should have some breakfast, Sir Guy." 

He shook his head. "No. I am not hungry. Feed yourself, then get some rest before the healer arrives, Fiona. If she comes, I am sure she will have the kitchen in a mess and will need help." He nodded down the hall. "You can use Lady Genevieve's room." His brow furrowed, suddenly realizing... "Bring Lady Genevieve's bag to me, as well as her nightgown. When she awakes, she will want it. And some wash cloths." 

Fiona blanched, but said nothing as she retreated. Surely the lord must be exhausted if he was offering a servant one of the main bedrooms. 

"I take it I may use the bed in the guardroom?" 

Guy nodded, before putting a finger up, holding the man off. He waited until Fiona retrieved the gym bag and gown and left, the door shutting softly. 

"Sir Guy?"

"I have been thinking of our earlier conversation," Guy spoke quietly. "If Matilda does not come or it takes time to persuade her," the knight was staring off, out the window, "and somehow one gets word around Nottingham and the surrounding areas that Lady Genevieve has been wounded in an unprovoked attack by an outlaw who has accosted her before; if word should somehow reach certain members of the clergy, who are known to be knowledgeable in the healing arts and other medicines not familiar or known here," Thornton stared blankly, wishing Sir Guy would stop beating around the bush and just spit it out, "and he came to fulfill his duty and responsibility as a healer and a priest, and he did it quietly through the back of the hall, making sure no one could see him, I would be obligated to allow him in my home and give him succor as a man of the cloth." He took a breath. "Of course, I would have no idea how that information got to the good friar and I best not ever find out how he found out." Now he lifted his eyes and stared full on at his steward. "Do I make myself clear?" 

"My Lord," Thornton began quietly, trying to sift through the rambling, but coded message the knight was trying to convey, "you are naturally concerned about your guest, as you should be. That she was openly attacked, is of course, shocking and frightening. It is criminal and a cowardly act." He nodded. "I shall put word out with the townspeople. They will talk and perhaps word will make its way to Friar Tuck that should he feel a desire to help those in need, Lady Genevieve is in need and you would grant clemency for a time." He waited for Guy to nod. "I will make up some morning mead for you, Sir and make sure the water is kept hot. You should get some rest as it will be some time before Matilda arrives."

" _ **IF**_ she arrives." 

Thornton gazed at his employer, the look of pity clearly missed by the dark knight. "She will come. I'll put the word out to see if the good Friar can be roused from his hiding place. I'll start with Father Thomas." With that, the steward quietly left the room, his footfalls silent on the boards. 

Guy listened, waited for the household to settle in the early morning and checked Genevieve. The cloth covering the wound was dry, the blood loss now slowing and Guy feared the cloth sticking to her skin. He picked up and saturated it in the bowl of water, wringing it out, before folding it and laying on where the arrow had penetrated her skin. He then realized she was warm, so he took another cloth, dipping it in the cooling water and laid it over her forehead and cheek. "I am not a nurse, my lady," he whispered. "This needs to be a wretched nightmare I need to wake up from now." Staring at her for a moment, he continued. "This needs to be a lie, a dream, a falsehood. We should be pursuing fleshly interests. With all the evil in England and here, no doubt you would not wish to stay with me now." With that he rose from the bed and removed the wooden casket with his parents' things and set it on the floor on the other side of the bed, before picking her bag off the floor. He opened it, found her iPad, her spiral notebook, and the strange writing utensil he was growing so fond of. After closing it and putting it back under the bed, Guy sat down, turned on the iPad and thumbed it to where Genevieve's notes left off. 

Slowly, he began to transcribe the too small lettering from one device, to the paper. Refusing to acknowledge the headache he was getting behind his eyes, and the pain of gnawing hunger in his stomach, he ignored both and continued on until he was finished. He had skimmed through it once, but as he went through the sections, bit by bit, the more horrified he became. 

And as he finished and looked over his work, red-eyed and exhausted, the more convinced he was that Genevieve was in a no-win situation. She was going to be forced to watch everything she had worked for to be yanked from her grasp and he so very much, was too familiar with the feeling.

_**~~~...~~~** _

Thornton was too agitated to consider resting, much less embark on a morning nap. There was simply too much to do. As he promised Sir Guy, he went directly to the chapel rectory, interrupting Father Thomas's morning prayers.

"Are you mad?" 

"Will you make me repeat myself?" Thornton stepped back as the priest rose from his knees. 

"Yes!" 

Thornton cleared his throat. "Sir Guy's guest, Lady Genevieve, was shot by an errant arrow last night." He smiled grimly at the glowering priest. "While she is not dying, she does need a healer." 

"What about the physician that took care of Sir Guy a few years back when he was sick and in quarantine?" 

"He died unexpectedly." 

"The sheriff's personal physician?" 

"Was deemed a quack and Lady Genevieve has made it clear she does not trust leeching." 

"Matilda?" Father Thomas leaned forward, looking around to assure himself that he and Sir Guy's steward were alone. "She is no more a witch than I am!" 

"We all know that. If Joffrey can coerce her into coming, the soonest she will arrive is late this afternoon." 

"Bah. That is a big if!" Father Thomas dusted off his cassock and straighten out the imagined wrinkles. "Would you like some mead?" The man moved to the back of the chapel, where a door led to a small hut that served as his living quarters. 

"That would be fine." Thornton followed him, noting the nasty promise of the lousy weather. He remarked to himself silently that since Lady Genevieve' s arrival, they had seen more rain than normal. He entered the priest's cozy, if spartan quarters, the fire in the fireplace still crackling merrily. He accepted the plain, earthen goblet from the man and took a sip. "This is as good as what we set on Sir Guy's table." He winked. "I won't tell."

Father Thomas shook his finger at Thornton before taking a sip himself. "You better not. Now, tell me again? I was saying prayers and didn't hear half of your rambling." 

Thornton took another swallow before speaking. "Sir Robin, as of late, enjoys shooting random arrows at Locksley and this time he hit something he would have rather not hit."

"Lady Genevieve. How badly is she hurt? More?" He raised the mead jug. At Thornton's nod, he topped it.

"Arrow in the back shoulder. Sir Guy removed it, as it was not deep, nor did it puncture any organs. Thank God, it did not hit bone."

"So, Sir Guy has sent for Matilda, who may or may not come, probably not, considering the bad blood between her and Nottingham."

"Her ire is with the Sheriff, not Sir Guy. Joffrey will remind her of that. But aye, she might not come, leaving us in a quandary and I pray you can get word to one of your fellow clergymen." 

"Tuck." With this, Father Thomas set his mug down and sat back on the stool he was perched on. "He will think it is a trap." 

"Sir Guy has promised clemency for this. If he comes as a man of God, in the cloth, with his know how-"

"Thornton! I would not come! I know you are sincere-" He gasped when Thornton reached into his pocket and held up a shining, spinning piece of silver. 

"This is Lady Genevieve's crucifix. It has much sentimental value to her and Tuck is aware of this."

Father Thomas reverently took the jewelry from his friend, appreciative of the fineness of the piece. "This is the piece Sir Robin attempted to take from her, is it not?" 

"Aye. Tuck was instrumental in seeing she received it back." 

"'Tis a finely wrought piece. I have seen similar in the Holy Land... oh... twenty years ago when I was on my last pilgrimage." 

"It must come back to her. Today." 

Father Thomas closed his hand on the piece, grimacing. "I hope and pray Sir Guy is being honest and this is not a trap." 

"He cares deeply for Lady Genevieve." 

Father Thomas glowered. "Sir Guy cared deeply for Lady Marian. He killed her." 

Thornton was unmoved. "Did he really? I hear rumors. Unsubstantiated rumors."

Father Thomas leaned forward and whispered. "I hear confessions, remember? The gang does come in on occasion and one of the members continually asks to be forgiven for his desire of revenge. It is not," he continued, seeing Thornton's question, "Lord Robin."

Guy's steward turned ashen. He had refused to believe anything that was not first hand accounting. "Did this person see Sir Guy kill her?" Father Thomas nodded. "You should know Sir Guy regrets what happened. He has horrid nightmares. He is consumed by guilt about what happened." 

"According to the confessed, Sir Guy was there to kill the king. She stood between them and dared him to go through her." The priest's voice dropped. "'Tis my understanding she goaded him. Taunted him." He shrugged. "You know how Marian could be." 

"And she died for it." _AH,_ Thornton thought to himself, _'tis true, then. This explains so much. And he is paying for it._ He reached over and clasped the priest's hand holding the crucifix. "This is not a trap. Send for the friar. Tell him to bring all of his medicines, his herbs, and healing oils. That," he nodded to the hand that held the cross, "is his safe passage. If he will not come, bring it back and we will go to the Sisters of Ripley. Surely, one of them will help us." 

Father Thomas nodded. "I will go. The Gang will believe me. I hope."

_**~~~...~~~** _

"Guy?"

Genevieve's voice broke through Guy's wandering mind. His head was pounding absorbing the connotations of what he had been working on. Reading that tiny writing on that... odd not-parchment made it feel as if the sun was bursting behind his eyes and it was painful. This was as bad as a hangover. He closed the notebook and set it along with the iPad under some paperwork on the table. "Do not move. You are not bandaged. Stay on your stomach." He stood up from the chair and grabbing an unused pillow, from the head of the bed, he threw it to the floor in front of her and sank down on it. 

"You have a headache. I can see it in your eyes. A bad one." 

He smirked. "You have a hole in your shoulder." _Strange and interesting,_ he thought, _she is injured and yet her first thought is me._

"How bad is it?" 

"Luckily, the arrow did not penetrate deeply and hit no internal organs or-"

"No, silly." Genevieve moved her right hand under her pillow, propping up her chin. With her left hand, she reached out, capturing a long, black curl and wrapping it around her finger. "Not me. You. How bad is your headache?" 

Guy tipped his head to the side, relishing the whispering stroke of her fingertip against his jaw line. "Do not worry about me."

"Of course I will worry about you." She sounded tired and worn out. Breathless. "How bad is your headache?" 

"Awful," he admitted. "But nothing compared to what you are feeling." 

"Where is my bag?" 

Guy's head tipped forward, touching hers. "Under the bed. You are in no shape to work on that contract." He could tell her - should tell her - that he had completed the work for her; tell her what it entailed, send her back to where she came from, where there were no leeches, better medical care... 

But he was selfish. He knew it. He decided when she said she had had it, had it with England's 12th century politics, had it with the Sheriff, had it with the time period...

_... had it with Guy... when she found out about all of his sins, his evilness..._

_... he would tell her all. But until that moment-_

"Under our bed." 

She smiled slightly at that. _Ours. Now that sounded nice._ "Pull it out. Down in the bag is a smaller bag and in it is a bottle labeled 'Tylenol'." She watched as he followed her instructions and finally found the bottle. He turned it this way and that. "Look at the lid. Press down on it while you turn. It will help your headache much better than willow bark." 

It took several tries before it came off, which frustrated Guy. Finally, it came off in his hand and he looked in it, inspecting the contents. "What am I to do with all of this?"

"Spill out two." She watched as he began to shake them out. "You need to swallow them. I use-" Genevieve stopped as Guy threw both capsules to the back of his throat and swallowed them dry, making the expected and compulsory face in the process. "I was going to say to swallow those with some mead, no alcohol, but since you're a tough cuss-"

"A tough wot?" 

"A cuss," she whispered. "A tough old sot." 

"I am not old." She recognized the man did not deny being a sot, something she found humorous and sad at the same time. "Can I have two of those or am I going to be taking something else?" 

Guy turned his back to her, leaning against the bed and laid his head on the pillow she was laying on. He was so close, he could feel her breath. "We have sent for a healer." He turned his head to look at her. She immediately knew he did not want to tell her what he was going to tell her. He had the most sorrowful look on his face. "You are going to have to be sewn, my lady." He heard her intake of breath. "You have a hole about this big," he made a circle with his pointer finger and thumb, the size of a quarter, "in your shoulder." He let that information sink in. "It needs to be sewn. Therefore, we are looking for a physician." 

It was quiet for a moment, while Genevieve absorbed the information. "Looking? You don't have a physician here or in Nottingham?" 

"Well, there was one, but he died." Guy did not feel the need to tell her he had killed the physician after he outlived his usefulness. "There is the Sheriff's personal physician-"

"The quack," she finished. "He would use leeches on me, wouldn't he?" Guy nodded. "Well, forget him."

"Leeching is an honorable, useful remedy."

"No, it's not!" Genevieve's head hit the pillow hard, causing her to moan in pain. "It doesn't help in healing at all. If anything, it weakens the person, but sucking out their blood! Argh!" She pressed face downwards into the pillow, so the next sentence was muffled and barely audible. "I forget this is the Dark Ages." She felt a gentle, if calloused hand caress her jaw, turning her face to look at the man sitting in the floor in front of her. 

"Dark Ages." 

Genevieve sighed. "It's what we call this time period." 

"'Tis not dark." 

Genevieve shook her head. "No. It means the people are in the dark." She couldn't ignore the look of confusion on Guy's face. "Most of the people here are illiterate, ignorant because they don't know. They can't read, the majority of them." 

"What do they need to know? Why do they need to read?" Again, Guy leaned forward, pressing his forehead to hers. "They are farmers, peasants." 

"Aye, you tell them what to do, what to think."

Guy shrugged, which caused her to sigh. 

Genevieve shook her head. So many differences. For not the first time, she wondered how she could possible consider staying; this place was so dissimilar to her time. "Would you take two out for me? Tylenol?" She watched as he tipped two of the pain killer into the palm of his hand. "I'm not as tough as you. I'd like some mead." 

She waited as he poured the goblet from the pitcher before bringing it back. Getting the Tylenol down was a bit of a hassle, but finally, both pills were swallowed. After the goblet was set down on the floor, Genevieve laid her head on his shoulder. "Guy?" 

"Hmmm?" 

"I have a problem."

"Really?" All of this was murmured. 

"Hmmm mmmm." He looked down at the tousled head. "I need to pee."

_**~~~***~~~** _

If Father Thomas knew the theme from _Mr. Rogers Neighborhood_ , no doubt he would have sung it during his brisk stroll. He whistled, he wandered. Making sure no one was on the road, he meandered off the well trod path, over fallen leaves and making as much noise as possible.

He sung a little tavern ditty he learned as a child. 

And a second.

And a third. 

When he began to whistle again, he realized he was surrounded in the trees. 

He continued to whistle and stroll. 

"Good morning, Father." Although expecting the company, it still shocked him that Lord Robin was able to suddenly materialize without warning. 

"Good morning, Lord Robin." Despite his being considered an outlaw by the sheriff and his lands a title taken from him by the same, the priest, along with most of Nottingham, still considered Robin a member of the nobility and continued privately to address him as such. 

"'Tis a bit cool for a leisurely stroll." Robin was now joined by Allan and Little John.

"True. 'Tis very cool, _if_ this were a leisurely stroll, which it is not."

"This, I do not like." 

"No, Little John," Father Thomas quickly agreed. "You will not like this one bit. No one is going to like it." 

Robin stopped walking, causing the entire group to come to a halt. "What has Vaisey or Gisborne done now?" 

"'Tis not what Gisborne has done," Father Thomas retorted jovially, "'Tis what _you_ have done, Lord Robin." The priest smiled when Tuck and Kate stepped out from behind a group of trees. "Ah, Friar Tuck. I need your help." 

"Help? Mine?" The Friar grasped the shorter clergyman's shoulder in a show of friendship. "What has Robin done that requires my assistance?" 

He was almost blinded by the sunlight reflecting off the spinning crucifix that now revolved in the Father's hand. "Lord Robin shot arrows at Locksley last night." 

Robin nodded. It was a known fact he enjoyed taunting Gisborne. "So, I shot Gisborne?" He was clearly proud of himself. Kate was ecstatic. Neither noticed the spinning chain Father Thomas was holding.

"No." Still holding the necklace where Tuck and all could see it, Father Thomas turned to face the exiled lord. "You shot Lady Genevieve."

_**~~~...~~~** _

"You need to what?"

Genevieve sighed. "I need to pee. I need to go the bathroom." She blinked. "The loo. Can you please help me out of the bed?" She was focused on the water closet in the corner of the room. It wasn't that far; surely she could make it without bleeding out and all over. 

Guy scrambled from the floor and gently helped her from the bed, keeping his hand pressed on her wound. Thankfully, it didn't bleed much, but it was oozing. "Does your shoulder pain you?" 

"It hurts like a mo-fo. Don't ask." 

"I am forgiving swearing today, m'lady." 

"I'm dizzy." 

"That is to be expected." They were halfway to the water closet.

"When did the distance between the bed and the toilet become so far?" 

Guy smirked. He realized she was rambling. He had seen it before. "It just seems like it is." He glanced down at the expanse of flesh uncovered in her outlandish clothing. The sight made him grin like a lunatic. "I never thought to see my shirt worn in that fashion."

"Don't make me giggle," she snickered before moaning. "It makes me hurt." 

"'Tis similar to that whatever it was you were wearing when I found you on the road. Your stockings had lace at the top. It made Joffrey blush. I do believe he was offended for you." 

This made her laugh some more, again moaning. "You sadist." 

"Sadist?" 

"Meanie." 

Guy rolled his eyes. "Why could the Almighty not throw a woman at me who spoke English?" They were now at the curtained entrance. He pulled the material back. 

This caused Genevieve to stop. "I was thrown at you?"

"Take two steps and turn around."

"What do you mean I was thrown at you?" 

"Turn around." 

"What do you mean was I thrown at you? How was I thrown at you?" 

"Sit down." 

"NO! OW!" 

"Genevieve-"

"You can't stay there!" 

Guy was leaning against the frame. "Why not?" 

She stared at him. 

"I am not leaving." 

" _Guuuuuuy!_ I can't do my business with you staring at me!" She swayed backwards, causing him to reach out and grasp her arms. 

"Sit down." 

"GUY!" He supported her while she sank to the seat. 

"I do not wish for you to fall." 

"I won't fall." 

"If you need help-"

"I do not need help to pee!" 

It was a stand-off of epic proportions, Guy realizing that the woman in front of him was equally stubborn as he. "I will drop the curtain and stand next to the door."

"You will leave the room." Genevieve was wheezing. 

"I will stand next to the door." 

"The door going into the hallway." 

This went back and forth for some minutes, Genevieve's mouth turning into a grim, white line. In the end, Guy dropped the curtain and leaned against the wall by the hall doorway, and internally complained about women in general and not only their need for privacy, but their demand to not be heard?

Some minutes later, he heard her gasp, "Guy?" He pushed off the frame of the door and moved quickly to the water closet. "I need some tissue!" 

She then had to explain what 'tissue' was.

_**~~~...~~~** _

Robin blinked.

"I shot who?" 

"You shot Lady Genevieve." Father Thomas stood firm among this group of outlaws some considered dangerous and others considered Godsends. 

"Did he kill her?" Kate sounded almost gleeful at the thought. In her mind, anyone with that scumbag Gisborne, was an evil person just by association. 

"No. The wound is deep, but it is my understanding that vital organs were missed and the arrow did not embed itself in bone." 

"So why are you here? Besides to tell me I need to be more careful with my aim."

This set the priest off. "Perhaps to tell you to grow up and leave petty grievances-"

"Petty? He killed my wife!" 

The priest did not lose his calm or cool demeanor. "Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord. It is not your place to extract such from Sir Guy."

"But-"

"The sin of your attempting to extort revenge on Sir Guy is just as great as the sin of Sir Guy killing Lady Marian." The priest's voice was slightly raised and all of the members of the gang stepped back at the firmness of it. "In God's eyes, there is no hierarchy of wrongdoing. It is all the exact same. The Lord will hold you equally accountable not only for your determination to make him pay, but also for your attempt to play God in not only Sir Guy's, but Lady Genevieve's life. If you succeed in sending Guy of Gisborne to hell, where you believe he should go, you will shortly join him there for your part in it! And if you killed Lady Genevieve, even in accident, you would be equally guilty of murder. "

Still holding the cross and chain, Father Thomas turned his attention back to the friar. "They are having to hunt a healer. It is my understanding the pervious healer is dead," he ignored the derisive snorts from the gang, "and the sheriff's healer has been deemed a quack. Matilda is in hiding, although Sir Guy knows her whereabouts'-"

"Goo' luck gettin' 'er t'come," Allan said to no one in particular. 

"One of the guards," the priest continued as if Allan had not interjected, "has gone to retrieve her and cajole her. Sir Guy was not the cause of her problems with the Sheriff and he is not in Nottingham at the time." 

"So why have you come to me?" Friar Tuck's voice was soft, but the rumbling baritone still carried authority. "I am a man of science and learning, not a healer." 

"But you know things and are well traveled. I would say you know more than most physicians and healers." 

Tuck shook his head. "You forget. I am a member of Hood's Gang. Why should I not consider this a trap" 

This was the argument Father Thomas and Thornton expected and it would not be easily over-turned. "Lady Genevieve has been injured. It is my understanding she has lost a lot of blood. They say she will need to be sewn. Sir Guy," with this he dropped his head and stepped closer, trying to whisper to the friar, "is very... fond of her," with this the rest of the gang snorted, "and extremely worried. I was given this," he handed the crucifix to Tuck, "to ensure your safe passage." 

Thomas's arm was stuck down by Hood. "Why should we care? He didn't care about Marian!" 

"I would say Sir Robin, he did care. Sir Guy has lived in hell since his return from the Holy Land." 

"Then let him stay there! I am sorry about Lady Genevieve, but perhaps she should not have been in his room after midnight!" He turned and stormed off. "Maybe she isn't much of a lady after all!" 

Kate made a face and followed, with Allan and Little John in tow. 

Leaving Tuck, Much, and Father Thomas. Tuck watched as Robin stalked up, stirring up the leaves and making more noise than he should. 

"She's sleeping in his room?" Much asked. 

"We do not know that. I would not presume to ask." 

"I take it she is in a lot of pain." The priest nodded. Tuck reached to take the necklace. 

"Friar Tuck! You cannot! It will be a trap!" 

"This," Tuck shook the necklace in Much's face, "is precious to her."

"Friar Tuck," Thomas interjected, "Sir Guy made it clear that while you were welcome and your aid would be greatly appreciated, no one was to mention how you were informed. He did not wish to know." 

"Of course not," Much snarled. "To protect himself!" 

"And Lady Genevieve and whoever is consorting with outlaws," Tuck finished for him. He held the crucifix up to the filtered sunlight, seeing subtle facets in the metal. "I suppose I should skulk in the shadows and enter through the kitchen door?" 

"Aye." 

"Robin grieves heavily, when it suits him," Tuck continued. The man obviously knew the weakness and flaws of his own flock and made no excuses for them. "He should know that we know Kate slips within his furs at night when they think we sleep. His comment about Sir Guy's lady was not necessary." Finally, he cupped the necklace in both hands and put it in a pocket of his cassock. "Come Much. I'll need help putting a satchel together." And with that, the Friar and Robin's manservant took off back to camp. 

**_tbc_ **

_**~~~...~~~** _

_**I wonder what's up under there** _

_**~~~...~~~** _


	21. 20 - ...it...

_**Manna from Heaven** _

_**Chapter 20** _

_**...it...** _

Friar Tuck arrived around midday meal, quietly coming to the kitchen entrance of the manse. Fiona, unaware that the friar had been called for, immediately went into what Genevieve's grandmother would have called a 'pockalyptic see-zure,' and would have left the good friar standing at the door, had Thornton not set her gently to the side and taken the priest's satchel.

"You are quite certain I will be welcomed?" he questioned again. "I am here to do God's bidding, regardless of-"

"You still have her crucifix?" Thornton replied smoothly. He nodded for Tuck to follow him into the main hall. 

The doors and windows were shut, so the room was dark, every candle lit, causing a smoky haze to sift in the air. The home was quiet, silent; one could almost hear the dust motes floating in the atmosphere. Tuck took a good look, took in his surroundings, the possible places of escape, the doors that led to nowhere...

"You are alone? No one is lurking?" Tuck followed the voice upwards. Sir Guy stood at the banister, looking down. For not the first time, Tuck marveled at the sheer height of the man, the imposing presence. Anywhere else, with anyone else, he would be a fearsome, daunting knight, which he was and which he continued to be, despite Robin. In truth, if it were not for Robin's almost narcissistic ego, Sir Guy would have been in charge of all, for Tuck was of the opinion that the current sheriff was quite a bit more mad than power hungry, while this one seemed to truly want one thing.

Land. 

Specifically, as even Robin openly admitted, land that had been unlawfully stolen from him. In that quest, Tuck did not blame the man one bit. 

Of course, with land, came power.

"I am alone. Am I granted safe haven, Sir Guy of Gisborne?" 

The knight glared and began to head towards the stairs, his eyes never leaving the holy man's. He was not wearing the heavily mailed jerkin, only the loose linen shirt and tight breeches. He was barefoot, but his sword was strapped to his belt. That worried the friar; he had been on the tip end of that blade before, and it was not a place he wanted to return to. Tuck didn't move, didn't budge as Guy reached the main floor and strode across to room to tower over him. "I hear you are a healer."

"I am a man of learning. I do not know what I can do, but I will do my best to help. Am I granted safe haven?" He held up Genevieve's crucifix. 

For a moment, Guy stared at the swinging ornament, before grabbing it from the priest. He hissed, apparently at the sharp edges that dug into his hand, but he did not relinquish it. He closed his eyes tightly. "I... wish to thank you for ensuring that Hood did not take this from her. It is dear to her."

Tuck nodded in agreement. "She was distressed when he took it. She said her grandmother gave it to her."

Guy's face darkened, his voice dropping to a hiss. "She told you this?" 

Tuck nodded, an odd, disquieting feeling he had said too much. He rambled on quickly, an attempt to divert the knight from the impending volcanic explosion. "She was extremely upset at its seizure. I told Robin," he hurried on, "that one does not steal from those who have had everything stolen from them and are relying on the kindness of strangers, nor should religious artifacts be taken from them." He gestured towards the silver chain dangling from Guy's grip. "That has great meaning and I was determined to return it to her." He looked up at the man, resolve very strong in his eyes. "Both times." 

Guy opened the palm of his hand to look at the cross, before closing it in his grip again. "Follow me."

Tuck remained rooted to his spot. "Am I granted safe haven, Sir Guy?" 

Gisborne stared at him, boring a hole through him. "Yes. Today. As long as you do her no more harm. You have my word."

For some reason, Tuck got the feeling that Guy's word meant more than anything else in Nottingham - as much as Robin's word - and that it was a point of honor for the man, most likely established when he had little else to recommend him. Tuck followed Guy up the stairs, into the dark interior of the home, finding himself in a luxurious main bedchamber, opulent by Nottingham shire standards. It occurred to Tuck that the hangings and curtains were recent, almost new, the room prepared for a bride who had not come. The shutters were closed, but the fire in the fireplace burned brightly, all the candles, the candelabra and lamps were lit and the bed curtains were thrown back, to allow as much light as possible into the room. 

Genevieve lay on the bed, head at the foot, on her stomach, her shoulders and back exposed. A small bit of bloodied cloth lay over the wound. "Lady Genevieve?" 

The woman's eyes shot open, darting about in fear, before recognizing the friar. As Tuck sat gently down next to her, she lifted her head and whispered, "I'm going to kick Hood's ass. You tell him I said so. He better wish that Guy gets to him first!" 

Guy snorted at that. 

Tuck reached over her shoulder and attempted to pull the cloth back. It was stuck to her skin by the dried blood. "And why would Sir Guy's ire be preferable to you kicking him?" 

"Guy will simply kill him. Ow." She laid her head back down on the pillow. "I'm gonna put a hurt on him like he ain't been hurt before!" 

Tuck continued to attempt to disengage the cloth, not commenting on the lack of formality between the couple. It was obvious the two were very close. "I am going to need a bowl of water, a cloth, and several bath linens to loosen the bandage so I can assess the wound. Is there a barb? Is it still embedded? What painkillers have you given her?" 

"Not enough!" Genevieve interrupted. "Ow." 

Guy poured water into a hand-washing bowl and dropped a clean cloth into it. Setting it on the table, he pulled several rags that were hanging over a chair and handed them to the friar. "I have the arrow; there was no barb, thank God, however it was splintered and I fear there are wood slivers in the wound. She will not let me near to look."

"You want to use leeches!" 

Guy rolled his eyes. "I mentioned it. I do not advocate the use." 

Tuck was shaking his head. "No. I would not use leeches either. There is no advantage to it. Superstition mostly." He began to wad and fold the linens around Genevieve's shoulder and body. Motioning for the bowl of water, he dipped the cloth into it and without wringing it, placed it over the affixed bandage. "Let that saturate the bandage, Lady Genevieve. It should come off easier. What painkillers have you used?" 

"She drank several goblets of tea with willow bark and chamomile. There was talk of making a salve of coneflower and olive oil, but it was decided to wait until you or the healer arrived."

This brought Tuck up. "A healer? If you contacted a healer, why did you ask me to come? I am a man of science, not-"

"The healer is not fond of me," Guy admitted quietly. "She refused to do as the sheriff bid some time back and he attempted to dunk her as a witch as punishment for her disobedience. I fear she equates me with him, as I was the one to retrieve her to begin with and I was in a hurry." Walking over to the mantle of the fireplace, he set Genevieve's cross on the mantle, out of the way. The longer he held onto it, the warmer it became in his palm. "If she refuses to return with the captain of my guard, I will retrieve her. I would prefer not to do that." 

Despite the stiff spine and guarded posture of the Knight of Gisborne, Tuck had a suspicion that he was overly fond of the woman in his bed and would do most anything to ensure her well-being. Hence why he had been offered safe passage here. He could not begin to imagine the emotional turmoil Guy was going through to look the other way at his very presence in his hall. 

"Well, we should check this bandage and see if it is loose yet." Tuck turned from Guy and prodded Genevieve's shoulder. The linen came up easily, showing a wound the size of his pinkie in the woman's shoulder. It was oozing and the beginnings of an infection was already beginning to form. It was red, swollen and puffy around the site. This worried the priest. "Lower the ceiling chandelier so I can have a closer look." 

Guy did as he was bid, not barking at the priest for being presumptuous or calling for a servant to do the work, simply untying the rope held off to the side and lowering the light to a more feasible level. Dripping water into the wound, he could see shards of something dark in the gash. "You said you had the arrow Robin shot?" He continued to prod, despite Genevieve's gasping and cursing, the priest amazed and shocked her language was more coarse than the gang's, much less Gisborne's. It crossed his mind to tell both that she was lucky; there were few places one could be shot in the back and have the least amount of damage. He heard rustling before the shaft was thrust in his face. Taking it from Guy, Tuck inspected it closely. As he suspected, there was no barb, simply a shaved point, one of thousands he had seen Robin make over the past few months. From the dried blood on the stem, he could make a rough guess at how deep the wound was and yes, the point was rough, jagged. Most definitely she had splinters and other unsavory objects buried within her shoulder. The problem was getting them out and he voiced this concern. 

"I have no instruments or needles to remove the shards from her shoulder."

"I have tweezers." 

"Genevieve!" Guy hissed.

"I don't care!" she cried. "I don't care if he knows. If it will help, I have tweezers in my bag." 

"What are tweezers and what are they used for?" Tuck attempted to ignore the man bearing over him. "You have a bag?" 

"In my bag. The one with my make-up." She was watching Guy, saw the confusion on his face. "You know, the paints?" She motioned with her good hand. "Just open it up and I'll tell you!" 

Guy nodded in understanding and leaning over, pulled an unusual satchel out from under the bed. Tuck watched in curiosity as Guy set it on the floor next to him, opening it and began to pull unusual things from it. After a few moments, he held up a bag and held it up to her. "This one?" Together, they went through it, Tuck astounded by the tenderness of the man he had been told over and over was a heartless, murdering bastard. Again, Tuck wondered about the man, his background, his obvious conflictions. He had seen first hand the depth of Guy's pain and guilt, his personal suffering for his sins, knew Robin would never believe it. Sir Guy of Gisborne had a conscience and a deeply wounded one at that. 

_So why had The Almighty given him charge of this woman?_

Tuck heard murmuring between the two, the sound of metal, other things clinking together. "That one. That's it. Oh, and get the cotton swabs too. They're in the box-"

"I see them." Sir Guy held up a strange silver implement. He reached up to hand it to Tuck, who inspected it closely.

"Lady Genevieve," he squeezed them open and shut several times, greatly enamored of the simple ingenuity, "might I ask what do you use this for?" 

"Errant hairs and splinters," she responded.

Tuck looked at her closely, aware that the knight was slowly rising, his look, darkening. Tuck had questions, so many questions, because many things Nottingham had been told, rumors that were flying, were obviously untrue and either the lady or the lord of the manor had made things up to cover up...

... her true purpose. And whatever her purpose was, it was a secret closely guarded and one that Sir Guy was determined to keep. Tuck had only seen this sort of protective behavior between couples who were deeply in love and devoted to each other. Before Guy could reach out to grab the priest, he spoke up, "We need to find something a bit stronger than chamomile and willow bark for her pain. When I begin to probe the wound, it will not be pleasant and it does not seem that she has a high tolerance level."

Yet again, the sheer physical presence of the knight was overwhelming and it took deep cleansing breaths to keep Tuck from turning and running down the steps and he knew he would not get far if he tried, but his comment seemed to stop the man in his tracks. Guy blinked twice, licked his lips in thought before raising his finger. "This. I do not know if it will help." 

There was a long crate on the table, pushed to the back in order to make room for goblets, canisters and bags of herbs. Moving things around, forward, Guy scooted the crate closer to the front, and released the lid, the smell of smoke again permeating the room. Tipping the lid back to rest on the wall, he reached in to retrieve yet what appeared to be an apothecary's chest. Balancing it with one hand, Guy slammed the lid shut with his elbow and set the chest on top of it, opening it. "This belonged to my mother. She was a healer of great renown." Guy backed up and gestured, inviting Tuck to take a look. "Hopefully, there is something in there to help." 

Tuck began to peruse the bottles, inspecting them, the labels. "How old are these?" 

Guy shrugged. "Twenty years at least." 

"What are you two talking about?" Genevieve groused. "I can hear you whispering!" Guy crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. "I better not hear the word 'leeches' come out of either of your mouths!" 

Guy dropped his head and whispered. "Leeches." 

"I heard that!" She flung her head in the opposite direction to grumble at the wall. "Don't make me put on my heels and come over there!" 

Tuck was obviously confused. "What did she say?" He picked up a bottle and shuddered when he read the marking.

_Mandrake. Too much of that would kill a person._

"I do not understand half of what comes out of her mouth," Guy whispered back. 

Tuck picked up another bottle, grimaced and replaced it. _Hemlock. Nightshade. What on earth did Guy's mother do with hemlock, much less nightshade?_

"I think it is a foreign language," the knight continued on, unaware that the friar was becoming alarmed at the arsenal of dangerous drugs sitting before him. "Can you use any of this for her?" 

Tuck continued to pick up each bottle and inspect them, 

_Huile d'arbre à thé._ _.. we can use that._

\- one at a time. He set some things to the side. The woman's collection, while frightening, was rather impressive. He picked up one he held first. Pulling the stopper, he sniffed, as if to check the scent. He smiled and looked up at the knight. "I believe so." He held up the bottle so the label was clearly read. "I will need a clean goblet and nice chilled wine." Guy squinted at the hand-written tag before smiling.

_Opium_

_**~~~...~~~** _

"Genevieve. There is not that much in the goblet. Please drink it."

"It's opium."

"'Tis not leeches."

Genevieve was clearly upset. She looked at Tuck, before looking at Guy. "Can we talk? Privately?"

Guy was slightly taken aback. "Do you need to go to the privy? We have discussed this already and I have no qualms at helping you into..." 

"NO, I DO NOT NEED TO GO TO THE PRIVY!" Her eyes shut tightly and she exhaled. "My shoulder burns and I just need to talk to you!" She opened her eyes and looked back at Tuck. "Privately. Alone." She now looked at Guy. "I have a concern," she gritted between her teeth. 

Tuck could hear weary desperation in her voice. "I need to go downstairs and see what your servants have in way of herbs. I will be back in a few minutes." With that, he exited the room, pulling the door almost shut, taking his satchel with him. Guy waited a few moments, listening for footfalls down the hallway to the first stair, which creaked. 

"Genevieve."

"It's opium!" She sounded terrified. Guy shrugged. "Guy! I don't remember my history very well, but I do remember that sometime in the 17 or 1800's, there was a war fought over opium! It's a powerful drug! It's addictive, I remember reading about opium dens... there is an illegal drug... heroin... I think heroin is made from it. You don't get off that stuff. It destroys lives!" 

"Genevieve," he began gently. "I know nothing of these wars you speak of, but healers here use opium as a pain killer. Yes, it is dangerous if taken in too large a dose or too often. I remember my mother telling me that. It is all we have. We will be careful of it." He sat down in the floor in front of her. "It is a very small amount. Only this dose. Please." 

"Oh shit," Genevieve sighed. "The puppy eyes." 

"Wot?" 

"You're looking at me with those puppy eyes!" Her voice dropped. "That's... that's... that's low! Evil. Just... evil." She threw her head on the pillow, causing her to groan. "How am I supposed to resist puppy eyes? What a rotten trick! I'm screwed. Give me the goblet. I'll just be an opium addict for the rest of my life." 

Not understanding a bit of what she said, save the fact she was agreeing to drink the drugged wine, Guy lifted her chin to aid her in the drink. After it was almost drained, he got up and went to the door, ready to call for Tuck and finding him almost at the top of the stairs, leaning against the wall waiting. "Did you persuade her?" 

"Yes."

"PUPPY EYES! LOW DOWN DIRTY ROTTEN PUPPY EYES!" 

Tuck dropped his head and smiled. "Whatever works."

Over the course of the next thirty minutes, waiting for the drug to take affect, Guy and Tuck boiled water, gathered every bath linen, bed linen, and clean rags in the home. The larger items were stuffed around Genevieve, the bed curtains tied back behind the bed as far as they could go. The fires were restoked, more water was heated. Thornton was in and out, carrying out orders. At one point, he brought a velvet purse at Sir Guy's behest and set it on the mantle, money clinking as he set it on the shelf. Tuck tried several different angles to see which would be the best light. As she nodded off, Guy climbed up next to her on the bed, her head pillowed in his lap. Gently, Tuck began to probe the wound, removing the dried clots, cleaning away the beginnings of infection. Guy held a brightly lit lamp over the area while Thornton stood behind Tuck, holding a bowl of clean, hot water. As Genevieve reached a deeper sleep, Tuck took the tweezers and began to probe. This caused more bleeding and several times, Genevieve hissed in her drugged sleep. Tuck was quite aware of the very tender touch Sir Guy used to stroke her cheek, draw back her hair, an attempt to calm her. For what seemed forever, Tuck cleaned, rinsed, irrigated and plucked tiny, minute pieces of bark and splinters and wood. And dirt. And more splinters. He checked the strange 'cotton swabs', wetted them down, using them to ease out loosened dirt and newly forming clots. Finally, the wound ran clear and the area probed clean. Using another swab to dab tea tree oil around the wound and in the edges, Tuck leaned back, stretched, annoyed at the popping sound, handing Thornton the bloody rag he had used to clean the tweezers. "Amazing instruments your lady has." Guy nodded blindly, his focus on Genevieve. Tuck stood up, looking around the room. He saw what appeared to be dozens of holes in the headboard of the bed, all gathered in the same place, just above a sleeper's head. 

Arrow sized holes.

"She needs to be sewn and I am unable to do that. I am sure there are herbs that can be used to aid the healing of the torn flesh and muscle..." 

Guy continued to stroke her face, brushing the hair from her eyes, monitoring her breathing and whispering... 

_Vous serez très bien. Je ne vais pas le laisser vous blesser à nouveau. Il sera mieux. Je le promets._

Tuck leaned against the bedpost, listening closely. The minute he stepped into the Hall, he recognized the very air was heavy. At first he thought it was heavy with his own personal fear, with the darkness that went along with Sir Guy, but as he sat on the bed and watched the two together, the tenderness of the knight... and he realized the weight in the air had nothing to do with Sir Guy's anger, much less violence. It was Guy's fear, the servants fear; fear that something would happen to her. 

Sir Guy was terrified something would happen to _her._  
 _  
Je ne vais pas le laisser vous blesser à nouveau._

They said the knight had pursued Lady Marian relentlessly. They said he cornered her, coerced her into a promise of marriage and then lied to her, to everyone, to force the marriage. That he burned her home in revenge, made her life, her father's last days a misery ... that he murdered her in a jealous rage. And that when he returned from the Holy Land, he had been enraged, insane with grief and hatred. He tried to kill Robin, thought he had killed Robin, that he was useless to sheriff, sent to the Prince, expecting to be hung, chained and weighed down by demons and his own guilty conscious.

But Allan... Allan whispered that Sir Guy loved her, that he covered for her, took abuse to save her, that he protected her... and Marian used him...

_I will not let him hurt you again._

Tuck ran his fingers through his hair. The Wounded caring for the wounded. That's what was happening here. There was no doubt Sir Guy was a wounded soul, but the woman in his bed...

...was lost.

Earlier he wondered why the Lord had given The Knight charge of this woman. Now, he thought he knew why. 

Standing over them, watching, listening to Guy murmur endearment after endearment, Tuck ran his hand up, until he felt something... jagged. Looking closely, he realized the post was nicked. It was nicked twice. One above the other. He deduced the nicks to be about chest area if a small woman were sitting up, slightly above the riddled holes in the headboard. 

He blinked. Those holes were lower than where Lady Genevieve was struck. Those holes should have put that arrow in her lower back. 

Quickly, he made his way around Thornton and went to the window. "Hood shot through this window?" 

"Aye." Guy didn't look up. 

Throwing open the inside shutters, he began to inspect the wooden slats that barricaded the windows. On the slat to the right of the center, he found them; two nicks. They were both angled upwards, changing the original path of the shot arrows. Nicks from two arrows, aimed low, to strike just above a sleeping head. To shock, to enrage the sleeping man in the bed. 

Or to kill the woman sitting above him. He leaned in, lining up the nicks from the window, to the higher nicks on the bedpost... he got up and walked to the bed... to see the one, solitary hole above the others. 

The arrows struck the bars and the post, altering their path. Had they not struck the two objects...

Both arrows would have struck Lady Genevieve and most certainly have killed her. 

And considering the volcanic temper of the man sitting on the bed, cradling her in his lap, with such care...

Thornton came up to the man. "Would you like food or refreshment, Father?" 

He nodded, still taking in the implications. The bars and the post had deflected the shots, altered the trajectory and the path of the arrows...under normal circumstances, those arrows would have struck low on the headboard, just above Sir Guy's head. But they were not normal circumstances and Hood's aim in the dark had been slightly off, causing both arrows to clout both bar and bedpost, forcing them up, one high into the headboard and the other slightly lower in the Lady's shoulder, rather than her back, where she had a less chance of survival. 

"Why are you crossing yourself?" Sir Guy was staring at him in a rather malevolent way.

Tuck swallowed. "Your lady is very lucky."

"Yes, I have seen the marks on the bed and the bars already. I see you have come to the same conclusion as I. She should be dead."

Tuck nodded. For not the first time, he realized that when he referred to Genevieve as Sir Guy's Lady, Gisborne did not deny it. Was she important to him and if she was, did Guy realize it himself? He vowed to himself when he returned to the forest tonight, he would take Robin aside and reiterate what Father Thomas had said about putting vengeance aside and to stop playing God. It was one thing to rob the rich, but this game was now out of hand. The stakes had suddenly gotten much higher.

"Tell Hood his life is forfeit." Guy's voice was low-pitched, sinister. "If I have to cut down every tree in Sherwood, I will. I will not wait for the sheriff's justice, but dispense it myself.

"Lord Robin would tell you the same thing." Tuck lifted his chin.

Guy shot from the bed, Genevieve's head bouncing from his lap to the pillow, causing her to groan in her drugged stupor. He pulled his sword from his scabbard and quickly had the man pinned to the wall.

"You promised me safe passage. I am a man of the cloth, of faith-"

"Shut it," Guy sneered. "I am going to hell anyway. The blood of a priest means nothing to me. You will walk out of here tonight, for I am grateful for the kindness you have shown my lady, and I did make that promise, one I will keep as I gave it, however-"

Before Guy could finish his sentence, hoof beats were clearly heard coming from the east, a horse ridden hard and ridden heavy. Guy backed up, taking one look out of the window. He shook his head, that half smile of his, gracing his face. "Well, bless Joffrey." He turned to face the friar. "He has brought Matilda, who can do what you cannot. Stay here." As he headed towards the doorway, he spat over his shoulder, "Hood lost his title when he became an outlaw. There is no 'Lord Robin' here in Nottingham." There was a clamor as the woman came in the front door, language that would have burned the ears of the gang, rising through the floor boards. Apparently, she was not happy to be here, and Sir Guy, after resheathing his sword, charged from the room to cajole this newest guest into staying. 

Tuck knew he only had a few minutes at best. He quickly went to the foot of the bed, praying Genevieve was lucid in some way. "Lady Genevieve? Are you awake?" 

She raised her head, eyes blurry and unfocused, but she smiled lop-sidedly. "Duz a bearrr shhit inna woods?" 

"I suppose they do," Tuck admitted with a smile. "Tell me, Lady Genevieve, what is it you don't care that I know? Do you remember where you are from? Is Sir Guy keeping you prisoner?" 

"Shhhhhh!" She drunkenly pulled her good arm from under her body and place one shaky finger to her lips. "Not prishner. Shhhhhh." 

Tuck mimicked her and lowered his voice. "Where are you from, Lady Genevieve?" 

"Far, far away." Her hand made a unbalanced arc. "Somewhere oooover the rainbow!" She dropped her head on the pillow and began to sing off-key. "Skiiiiiiies aaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrre bluuuuuuuuuuuuuu-"

"Shhhhhh," Tuck reminded her.

"Yesh yesh. Shhhhhh." She started to giggle. "Doan...doan... doan tell Guy. Shekrit."

"Secret, yes. Where are you from? Does Sir Guy know?" Tuck looked up, listened. There was an argument of gigantic proportions going on in the main hall. He hoped it kept up for a while. 

"Alanna Jorja!" She smiled smugly. "Guy knose. Dat's whur I'm frum." Her smile fell for a moment. "Reeally frum Kin-tuck-kee. But now? Alanna Jorja."

In all of his travels, Tuck had never heard of neither of these places. "Where is Alanna Jorja?" 

"Over the ocean." She looked at Tuck, seeing his disbelieving stare. "The world izznt flat. Nope! Iz round!" 

_That made sense._ "How did you get here?" 

She thought for a moment. "Aye wuz inna wreck. Badbadbad wreck. Guy found me inna road, but den he said summon threw me at him! Like I came frumma sky or sumptin." _Ah, now that sounds familiar. Someone told Much that she fell from the sky_... She dropped her head and tried to look serious. "Daon say nuttin' but he drinks too much." She nodded. "Yep. Drinks likka proper sinnerrr!" She rambled on without stopping. "He's sad. He mizzez her. Mare-ee-anne." With this she sighed and laid her head back down. "Aye hhhhope he mizzes me when I go back." 

"When are you going back?" The yelling was starting to die down, but the combatants weren't moving towards the stairs yet. 

"When t'paper workk iz done!" She snarled. "Damned contract! Damn Rat Bastard!" 

"Sir Guy is a rat bastard?" 

"NO! Lamar iz!" She sighed. "Guy iz sex onna legz. Maybe dey let me stay."

"They who?" 

"I dunno. My-ee off-iz man-ger sez Angel of Death, but I doan think so!"

_What?_

"Lady Genevieve?" The voices were now quieter and they were heading up the steps. "Where are you from? Who is your...office manger?" He lifted the goblet which still had a little wine and opium in it. 

"Anudder time. Anudder place. Far, far frum here." She drank the rest of the wine and laid her head back down. "I tink aye'd ratherr go t' France wit Guy and raise grapes, doe." She lifted her head and pointed at him, trying hard to focus. "Did yew knowz one ah the priests inna church here eyez change colors? Weird."

"Quickly. Who is your office manger?" _Who cavorts with the Angel of Death?_

"Val. Val Oelle." And with that pronouncement, she passed out. 

_Val Oelle...that name is familiar._

Tuck put the chalice back in the floor and quickly took two steps back, his hand over his mouth. All the information she shared, but what riddles. _Another time, another place, over the ocean, where her world wasn't flat and the paperwork...  
_  
 _But she wanted to go with Guy to France and she hope he missed her when..._

_So Guy's well buried feelings were returned. She had feelings for him._

The door burst opened and a well-padded woman stormed in, with two full satchels in hand. She shoved them at the friar and with a softness that he wouldn't have believed had he not seen it, she sat next to Genevieve on the bed, brushing her hair back. "At least y'have her clothed decently enough so's I can work on her. Ah, what have you logger-headed, preeny boar-pigs given her?" She lifted the bandage from her shoulder and hissed at the wound. She swiped her finger around the edge, lifting the oil and sniffed it. "Tea tree oil. Good start." She peered closely at Genevieve. "What 'ave yew peabrains given her?" 

Guy was holding the bottle and shoved it at her. She stared at the label before spitting, "Aye cain't read, you foot-licker!" 

Guy rolled his eyes. _What did the perverseness his sex life have to do with this?_

"Opium. We have given her opium." 

"Well," Matilda shrugged. "That will do it. The wound is clean. What more have you yanked me from my home for?" 

"She needs to be sewn," Tuck answered. "The wound is gaping and deep and I do not have the skill for it."

Matilda looked at Guy, mentally calculating. "How did this happen? Teachin' her to shoot the arrow and she grabbed the wrong one?" 

Tuck cringed. 

Guy smiled cruelly. "Hood likes to take pot-shots at me at night, when I am asleep. It makes him think he has testicles." 

If she took insult, Matilda deflected it. "Comin' from the likes o' you, that would put t'two o' you in the same horse stall."

Guy's smile didn't change. "Remember, healer. I will pay you well, but you are wasting my time. That pond is still out there, as is the dunking chair."

Tuck saw the stand-off for what it was. "Matilda. Please. Lady Genevieve was an innocent bystander. She needs a healer's touch, not barbs thrown between two equal adversaries. Have some compassion for her." He took her by the arm. "What can I do to help?" 

Matilda's first notion was to rail at the priest - equal adversary? The Lackey? Equal? She opened her mouth to retort, but could see the gentle pleading in the man's eyes. "Oh, all right." She thrust her finger at Sir Guy. "You! Hold her down. She's no' gonna like this a bit even if she is knocked out!" She turned to Tuck and did the same. "What did you put the opium in? Wine? Make more just in case." With that, she went to the table, fussing about all the bottles in her way and opened her satchels, pulling sheep gut thread and bone needles from it.

Tuck leaned over and picked the empty goblet up from the floor. "I do believe your room has just been taken over by a bossy female." 

"I heard that, you fawning measle." She pulled out a mortar and pestle and began to grind herbs into it.

Guy simply glared and sat on the bed, pulling Genevieve into his lap.

"Not like that! Gives her too much room t' move. Either lay her flat, or put her over yer shoulder like a babe."

Genevieve was heavy; this Guy knew for a fact and the thought of holding her tight in his arms to immobilize her wasn't something he thought he could do for long. He ended up laying her down, taking the pillow from her so she lay flat on the bed. 

The second goblet ready, Matilda washed her hands in the bowl and sat down on the other side of Guy. "Whoever she is, she's a brave lass, livin' openly here w' the likes o' you!" she spoke up boldly. "She's a good influence as you certainly smell better, that's for sure." Before Guy could retort, much less roar, she continued, holding up a small bowl, which Guy could see had a strange paste in it. "This is an salve of coneflower and marigold, mixed with tea tree oil. Marigold," this she directed to the priest, who sat behind, to hold Genevieve's legs if necessary, "will help this heal, the coneflower and tea tree oil, will limit the infection. I wish I had a better way t' put this directly into this hole. It will help t'muscle-" She jumped back when Tuck shoved a Q Tip in her face, "mend itself."

"Lady Genevieve has some of the most amazing things at her disposal."

"You did not see it," Guy snarled. "I know where you live."

Matilda snatched the Q tip and began to inspect it. "Don't remind me." She pointed it at Guy. "Does she have more of these?" 

"A few. I will see you get one or two." 

Genevieve slept through the swabbing of the tincture, although Matilda expected her to at least moan. While applying the medieval ointment, she told Guy how to make it.

"Tell my servants, Thornton and Fiona as well. They typically tend to the needs of my peasants," Matilda bristled at that, "as well as my guards." 

"Tryin' t'put me outta business?" 

"No!" Guy snapped. "I suspect you do not wish to return here in the way you have been brought here today!" 

"No' particularly, you over-grown bladder," she gritted between her teeth. "I will be honest yer a damn sight better 'n that pignut of a sheriff!" She began to pinch the wound together, not bothering to wipe the excess paste that was oozing out. "At least y'had the good sense to send Joffrey to get me. You best be good to him."

Guy started to remind her Joffrey was his chief guard and he promised to provide the funds to teach him to become a knight, but soon became engrossed in what Matilda was doing.

He grew concerned when after asking him to hold the now infused wound together, Genevieve did not move when the healer began to sew her. Her stitches were tight, close, ensuring a less noticeable scar, but a scar nonetheless, Guy again internally swearing to take Hood's head in vengeance. Trickles of blood seeped across Genevieve's shoulder and unwelcomed thoughts ran through his mind. 

He remembered cutting the Nightwatchman after knocking her off her horse - Marian - and stabbing her with that wicked, curved blade, when she robbed him a few nights before their wedding. He didn't wonder who cleaned her wound, sewed her... it had to have been the Saracen girl who was part of Hood's Gang for a time. 

But he wondered... how badly had he hurt her...seeing her so pale the day before, her father lying, she fell from her horse? Was that it? Had the wedding gone through, what would he have done when he saw the scar... and realized it was her all along, mocking him...

Would she had gone through with the wedding had Hood's manservant not interrupted the wedding? Did she have a plan for that? Did Hood? How long had she been in league with Hood? 

_How long had she used him?_

_What about Genevieve? Was she betray him... would she turn on..._

"Sir Guy?" Tuck's voice interrupted his thoughts, jerking Guy back into the present. "Are you alright?" The man actually looked concerned and Guy become aware that Matilda was looking at him curiously as well. 

He shook himself. "I am fine," he responded tersely. "Why do you ask?"

"You are pale. As if you've seen a ghost." 

Guy locked his jaw. "'Tis just a bit of blood. I have shed more, spilled far more," he stated stubbornly. "It does not bother me in the least." 

Both Tuck and Matilda looked at each other, as if able to read each other's thoughts. The knight was concerned, worried, and obviously scared for the life and well-being of the woman in his bed. So what did this mean?

Matilda was the first to rise from the bed. Quickly, she cleaned up Genevieve and herself, packing her things. "I'll tell yer steward how t'make the salve, so he'll know an' can make it so's I don't hafta come back no time soon. Keep it dry and apply the ointment twice a day." She turned back to the bed as if to admire her handiwork. "Leave the wound uncovered for at least two days; the air will heal it, as will the poultice. Y'can take the stichin' out inna week an' a half."

"Wait." Guy rose from the bed, careful not to jar Genevieve. Pulling the pouch from the mantle, he opened it and began to count out coin, silver. "Open your herb satchel." Matilda stared at him. "I wish to pay you. Open it." 

Stunned, she did as he asked, silently counting as he dropped the pieces one at a time on top of her jars and bottles. "Thirty pieces? I feel like Judas!" 

Tuck snorted in merriment.

Guy held several more pieces in his hand. "Anything you heard, saw, is not to be spoken of, ever." He dropped five more in. "If I hear even a whisper, I will come to you in the dead of night and take back every bit of coin along with your head."

Matilda slapped his hand, causing him to drop the rest in his hand. "Don't threaten me, you pig-headed clotpole! I can put things in yer food that'll give you the galloping shites for the rest of yer nat'ral life. Now," she stepped back, ignoring Tuck's snickers, "y'promised me more o'those swab-things." 

Pulling the string and tossing the purse back on the mantle, Guy extended his arm, waiting for the priest to toss it to him. He slid the box open, and noticing the box was full as if none had been used, picked up four or five. 

"Wot? Yer bein' beggardly?" Matilda chortled. "I jus' saved yer lady's life."

Guy plucked out three more. "Do not exaggerate." He dropped them in the extended satchel. "Give the ingredients for the salve to Thornton and Fiona and tell them I said to make you a food bag. Joffrey will take you home. Lay low. The sheriff has no love for you, nor do I." As with the purse, Guy put the box of swabs also on the mantle and with a finger up to hush Tuck, listened as she made her way down the stairs and murmuring rose through the floor. 

Tuck extricated himself from the bed, making sure not to disturb a still sleeping Genevieve. He checked her breathing, making sure it was regular and deep. "Is there anything else you need, Sir Guy?" 

Guy was staring at the mantle, his eye on his purse. "Wrestling with my conscious." 

"I don't administer confession."

Guy crossed his arms and settled back on one hip. "I would not confess to you. You would go straight to Hood and tell him everything."

Tuck shook his head. "The confessional is sacred. I would not sully it in that way. Whatever is spoken within is of utter confidence." 

"I have not been to confession since before-" he cut himself off.

"Before the Holy Land," Tuck finished for him. 

"You speak too much, priest." The last word was spat in ill concealed fury.

The friar calmly tucked his hands into his sleeves, looking down for a moment to collect his thoughts. "You confided in me once before. I have told no one. Confession is good for the soul, the clearing of the mind."

"Do not tell me wha-"

"I recall I told you there is a reckoning, we will all face judgment. We will all have them. Perhaps yours," he motioned toward Genevieve, who at that moment, chose to inelegantly snort in her sleep and grope for a pillow that wasn't there. "is lying in your bed." 

"I wish," Guy growled. He stood there for a moment, glaring before continuing. "I would like to pay you, however, you would only give it to Hood, who would then hold it over my head until I kill him because I gave him money for the poor that I supposedly caused to become poor. There is my conscious dilemma." 

Tuck stared at him. This was a dilemma. Truth was, he expected no payment whatsoever, he didn't think Gisborne would even thank him. He thought for a moment before continuing. "If your heart tells you to compensate for a deed simply done in kindness, perhaps you would grant me a boon." 

"I am going to kill Hood." Guy said straight-forward. "Nothing will deter me from that path, save my own death." 

Tuck smiled sadly. "Somehow, I figured that. So no, that is not what I will ask." He sighed heavily. "The church here in Locksley struggles under the strain of the needy here." 

"I will not step foot in that church." 

Tuck would not be deterred. "Sir Guy, I understand the building holds dark, bleak memories for you-"

Guy snorted.

"-however, it is simply wood, a building; no more than a physical presence of a painful reminder. But there is good inside and aid to be found for those who look for it. Including you." 

Guy was now breathing hard derisively between his teeth. 

"If you were to make donations to the church, Father Thomas would be able to aid your people, especially as they have been taxed so heavily by the sheriff. Not only would it be your way of aiding them without the sheriff knowing, but it would keep Hood out of Locksley. Of course, you could do so anonymously and no one would need to know." Tuck tipped his head to the side. "You are not a tightwad or greedy, like someone we could name. You desire power more than you desire ill-gotten wealth." 

Guy remained quiet. There was more. He could tell. 

"In addition-"

"I knew it." Guy stared at the beams in the ceiling. "I knew it. Would you have me kissing babies next?" 

"No." With this, the friar stepped forward, began to reach as if to take the knight by the elbow, but thought better of it before he reached. "Go to confession." At this, Guy growled and turned away. "At the very least, lay your burdens on an altar and leave them there. You will find your answers." He now stepped backwards. "You admitted to me once that demons clawed at your brains. Do they still?" 

It took a moment for Guy to respond. "I have nightmares. Wretched nightmares. For a time, they were content to terrorize me in the night, but as of late..." his voice drifted off. "There are rooms in Nottingham I can no longer go into. Places I can no longer go. They hide in the shadows." 

Tuck waited until he was sure Gisborne was finished. "Go to confession. Lay it on an altar in quiet. If they are real, they cannot walk on consecrated ground. If they persist, they are yours and only you can banish them. Perhaps, you will find peace then." 

"I think it would best if you leave now." He turned his back on the man, hugging himself and looked for cobwebs above him. "I promised you safe haven, but right this moment, it is difficult. I am weary and my patience wears thin. Tell Hood he is a dead man." 

Guy did not hear him slip out.

****

[ ](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/ZeeDippyVessel/media/Fic%20Artwork/20tumblr_mxd9tw3UaV1qcmk5do1_500_zpsbc9c4fcb.gif.html)

****

~~~...~~~

As soon as Tuck was sure he was not being followed, he cut into the forest and headed as quickly as he could to camp. With the weather turning cold, the gang had retreated to the hidden cave-like structure between the rocks, Will Scarlet made the year before. It kept the wind out and Little John had built a brazier type stove that was vented through a natural fissure in the rock, not keeping it toasty warm, but at least keeping the chill out.

The gang was excited to see him, asked questions - _What happened? How badly was she injured? How angry is Gisborne? What was she doing in his room? What are his plans?_

As if the knight would tell a member of Hood's Gang what his plans were. Tuck answered with one word responses, the group quickly coming to the conclusion that something seriously was wrong. Tuck went to his assigned spot, his bed and after lighting a lamp in the corner where it would not glow, began to rummage through his things, his books, journals. 

_Val Oelle... Val Oelle..._ the name was familiar. He started with the first journal and began to flip through the pages. _Val Oelle... Val Oelle... went to the second one... THERE!_

_Valoel. An Angel. A powerful Angel._

In Tuck's travels, he had visited many holy places, monasteries and mosques. He discovered early on that as long as you treated the Muslims with respect, they were willing to share their knowledge. Truly, Western Europe could learn a lot from their University system and open debates. Such a wonderful exchange of ideas. In many scattered libraries, he had found references to angels, the messengers, that many had names and specific duties. One here, two there. A comment, a mention. This had fascinated him, as much as the movements in the sky, causing him to think that Genevieve was right. The world was round and he suspected the Earth was not the center of the universe, but the sun, for the sun was constant and never altered its daily path. However at this time, such thoughts, if spoken aloud, were considered heresy. While Tuck did not question God, he did question so-called scholars and badly educated priests. Hence why the good friar stayed on the move, not resting in one spot long, lest someone would figure out his secret. Luckily, he hid much under his scholarly mien and no one had questioned him. 

Yet.

He went back to his scrawled notes on this 'Valoel'...

_Valoel gives a calm and tranquil feeling of inner peace. Aids in resolving conflict within the heart._

Tuck sat back, rubbing the smoke from his eyes. He thought back on what Lady Genevieve said. Her offiz manger...manager... to manage. The angel manages her offiz... her office...

This was not a chance encounter; there was a heavenly being who resided on earth - or Genevieve's earth - and had direct dealings with her on most certainly a daily basis. If the angel was a... manager... it was as if it was a steward... or a chatelaine. 

 

Somehow, he didn't think the angel was truly subservient to Lady Genevieve. This was quite interesting. He suddenly remembered Genevieve's drugged suggestion that one of the priests at the local church...

There was only one, not more than one. Father Thomas. But she also mentioned...

_How many of us have entertained angels, unaware..._

He continued to flip pages, scan the pages in such a hurry, he had to go back to reread. This frustrated the man and made him growl, bringing attention to him from members of the gang. They stopped talking and moved towards the back of the cave, not understanding that the friar was unaware of their concern. 

_Eyes change... eyes change... eyes..._

_Douma: The thousand-eyed angel. Also known as The Angel of Death._

Genevieve had mentioned The Angel of Death.

_Another time, another place, somewhere over the rainbow and an office manager that was an angel who was in league with the Angel of Death..._

The friar's hands began to shake. 

_Dear God in Heaven, save us all, and Sir Guy of Gisborne has charge of her. Which one is the more dangerous? Or in the most danger? Why are angels personally interested in a single human being? Is Lady Genevieve or Sir Guy even aware? Why would The Creator or even the Angel of Death pursue such an endeavor? This is beyond the notion of entertaining angels-_

"Tuck?" Hood's voice cut through the man's musings. "Is something wrong? 

"Very. Yes. Very wrong." 

This caused a stirring, a muttering. Little John was adamant of what he did not like and the wrongness in the Gisborne household, he definitely did not like.

"Would you care to impart what is troubling you, my friend?" 

_Great Almighty! How do I put this? She...He..._

He closed the book and tossed it into the pile, thankful all of his journals looked identical. He picked up his satchel and began to replace them in random order, so no one would realize what he knew. Truth only Robin could read, but he was smart and would figure it out if he had enough information. 

"You need to leave Lady Genevieve be. Stop shooting arrows at Gisborne."

"Wha-"

"Father Thomas was right, Robin." Tuck's voice resonated deep, with much authority. "Vengeance is God's, not yours."

Robin cockily shook him off. "What? Gisborne? He threatened me, right?" 

His attitude infuriated the friar and the gang stepped back when Tuck stood up. "Your aim was off last night, Robin." Much gasped at the insinuation. "Your arrows struck the bars in the window and the bedpost, altering their path! Had your shot been true, you would have killed her and Sir Guy's vengeance would be nothing short of the Devil's Wrath!" 

Robin snorted derisively. "As if I would be afraid of him!" 

Tuck stepped into the light, causing the group to step back further, his face glowing eerily in the firelight. "Believe me. If you harm, even unintentionally, Gisborne's Lady - and yes, she _is_ Gisborne's Lady now, you... we all ... will have much more to fear than Sir Guy!"

_**~~~...~~~** _

Guy sat in the room for an hour, refusing food, simply watching Genevieve breathe. When her breathing hitched and switched to the Breath of Natural Sleep, he tucked a pillow under her head, made sure the quilt covered her to the top of his shirt, leaving the freshly-stitched wound open to the air. He reshuttered the windows, breathing the fresh air before he did so, stirred the fire. He cleaned the tweezers, put them back in Genevieve's bag, along with box of cotton swabs, marveling yet again the small container was full. He grabbed the purse from the mantle and went to a hidden spot in the privy. He learned long ago that thieves did not like digging through latrines any more than anyone else enjoyed cleaning them, so after the Nightwatch... no... Marian... attempted to rob him, he had a safe hole built behind the privy, difficult and smelly to get to, making sure the carpenter met with an unfortunate accident within a day after it was completed, before he had a chance to tell anyone. He measured out a goodly portion of copper, small monetary quantities that a peasant would have... silver or gold would be suspect. While he still had the courage, he put on his boots, walked down the stairs, told Thornton he was stepping out for air and to keep an eye on Genevieve for a short time. He then strode out the doors and into the village.

He stared at the church. Surely, he was deranged to consider the friar's request. He swore to never enter that building, never reflect on it, remember on that day.

It was supper time, the sun was low in the sky and the square was quiet. It was cold and the smell of wood burning and cook fires rent the air. Making sure no one was in sight, Guy gathered his courage and strode purposely across the square, past the pond and around, his head down until he reached the door.

The demons were screaming, making him want to claw his own brain, their terror evident. 

He reached out, grabbed the handle and entered. 

The dust motes spiraled, taking shape. He didn't have a chance to relive the memories of his wedding. She, in her wedding finery, her ghost wavered before him. 

_Why are you here?_

"Get out of my way," he whispered.

The filth flew up before him, the face, not hers, but instead, a twisted mask of hate. 

_You are reprehensible, unforgivable! There is not enough time in forever for you to repent! Such evil cannot walk on sacred ground!_

Guy smiled maliciously. "Then how are you here? Unless you are simply nothing more than my own anger projected back on me? You are nothing!" 

The figure exploded, the demon disappearing.

Guy snorted. "Had I known it was this easy, I would have done this sooner." Somehow, however, he did not think the demon was done with him, but this... this felt good. For now, he felt free. He knew however, whatever it was would be back. Most likely the moment he stepped outside the door.

He spied the poor box and quietly tiptoed up to it. It was locked and only had a small slot in the top, forcing him to drop coins in a few at a time. He did not see a wavering shadow watching him curiously in the shadows, wondering what mischief the knight was up to. When Guy finished, he looked at the altar, weighing what Tuck had said, promised.

_Lay them on the altar, confess them, leave them there._

_How does one leave their thoughts, their guilt, their sins on a kneeling bench and walk away, thinking that would cure everything?_

A lump formed in his throat.

_You almost lost Genevieve last night, Gisborne. What if Tuck was right and she is your reckoning? Your judgment?_

He was on his knees before he knew it, his head literally on the hard bench of the altar. The words, in Latin, as he had been taught so many years ago, began to pour forth, along with the tears...

"Pater, ignosce mihi, quia peccavi. Ego mulier, ego dilexi occidistis in furore zelum nescio quid faciam, et saevire... Et adiuva me. Et adiuva me. Obsecro et adiuva me...obsecro... obsecro... "

_Help me. Please help me._

He was unaware when shadow took shape and an angel Genevieve would have recognized glided over and put a hand on his head, causing an outpouring of grief, pleading with his maker, and immediately easing his heart.

_... et adiuva me... et adiuva me... et adiuva me... obsecro..._

[](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/ZeeDippyVessel/media/Fic%20Artwork/20angel_zpsd460d2e8.jpg.html)

  


_**~~~...~~~** _

_**And you once said I wish you dead, you sinner.** _

_**~~~...~~~** _

_Vous serez très bien. Je ne vais pas le laisser vous blesser à nouveau. Il sera mieux. Je le promets._ \- You will be fine. I won't let him hurt you again. It will be better. I promise.

 _Pater, ignosce mihi, quia peccavi. Ego mulier, ego dilexi occidistis in furore zelum nescio quid faciam, et saevire. Obsecro et adiuva me,_ \- Father forgive me, for I have sinned. I have murdered a woman I loved in a jealous rage and I do not know what to do. Please help me. 

Herbal Lore by The Handbook of Vintage Remedies - by Jessie Hawkins.

The Angel of Love - edited and used with permission by Sarah-Pete Designs. 

Footer Lyrics - The Wolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I wanted to thank those who are reading and those who have left reviews. Thank you._


	22. 21 ... rejoices...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N - I am not responsible for ruined monitors, keyboards or the trouble you will get into if you read this on a public computer.

_**Manna from Heaven** _

_**Chapter 21** _

_**...rejoices...** _

In the dead of the night, Guy's eyes jerked open, his first waking conscious thought was Genevieve laying so close, she was almost beneath him. Her breathing was regular and her hand was wrapped around his erect prick, stroking slowly.

"What are you doing, m'lady?" It had been twenty-four hours since Hood had shot her. That she would be doing this was disturbing. Delightful, but disturbing.

"You were hard. Since I can't do much else-"

His hand grasped hers. "How is your shoulder?" 

Her sigh rent the air. "It burns. Hurts." She inhaled sharply. "Actually, right now it hurts more than it did when it happened."

On her next upswing, he continued, removing her hand, causing his body to scream loudly in frustration. "The shock of it has worn off. Would you like something for the pain?" 

"No. No." It was quiet, the only sound, the crackling in the fireplace. "Not yet." 

Guy rolled over to face her, lips along her hairline. "Is opium such a frightening thing in your time?" 

It was silent for a time; Guy truly thought she'd fallen asleep, before her murmur rose in the dark. "I just remember bits and pieces of my history class."

"A war was fought over it. So you said." He still held her hand and he replaced it back where it had been, relishing the feel of her fingers around him. "Slowly. Draw it out. I am in no hurry." He waited for her rhythm to resume. Suddenly, he wanted to cherish this time, the ability to converse with her about things other than the household, politics. "Talk to me." 

Genevieve resituated herself, trying to make herself comfortable and not doing a good job. "What would you like to talk about?" 

_Ah, she was stepping into it_. "Ba-na-na."

He felt her smile against him. "Banana. A yellow, tropical fruit. It has a thick skin, much like this," she stroked up, bringing his foreskin up above the head, "that you have to peel back and away in order to expose the fruit." She stroked down, her thumb caressing the slit on the head, causing it to weep and Guy to shudder. "It is very good to eat. I like it in cereal, ice cream and other desserts." 

"Very nice, but still. Why ba-na-na?" 

"We've discussed this, Guy." 

"Humor me." He waited for a moment and perturbed he did not receive an answer, reiterated. "You were frightened when I asked you before and the answer you gave me was borne of that fear. Why ba-na-na. Is this common?" 

"It's a type of code. I can't take anymore. It's too much. I'm over-stimulated. You're moving too fast. This hurts. That scares me. What you're doing is frightening me. It means to stop immediately and to not do so usually destroys the relationship. It causes loss of trust." 

Guy mulled this over for a moment. "Why not say 'stop' or 'do not'?" 

Now Genevieve chuckled. "Think about it, Guy. Stop. Don't. Stop. Don't. Stop. Don't don't stop stop stop don't stop please stop don't stop..."

Now Guy was laughing quietly with her. "So... safe word. It is a word to help you be safe." 

"You, too, as well." 

"Really?" Guy smiled evilly. "Ba-na-na." 

Genevieve immediately released him.

He cupped her hand and set it back at its delightful task. "Just making sure." He enjoyed her ministrations for a few minutes, cuddling her close and relishing the smell of her hair. "So, this is the game you and I play, that we like so much." The next thought pained him with jealousy, but he continued, with it, his curiosity demanding to be sated. "You have played this game before." 

"No," Genevieve whispered shyly. "I have always been curious, but I haven't been comfortable enough with a lover to bring it up." She brightened somewhat. "I have done a lot of reading about The Lifestyle." 

New words. She was teaching him all of these new words. "The Lifestyle." He thought for a moment. "S...D..."

"BDSM. The Lifestyle." 

"Ah." New ground. "Explain." 

She burrowed in, making the space between them warmer. Her hand continued. "BDSM. Bondage, dominance, sadism, masochism." 

Guy mulled the new words over. "These go together or are separate?" 

"Depends. Some are into one thing, others combine two or more." 

Now, this was making sense. "Bondage."

"Tie me up, you bad boy." 

Guy resumed laughing. "Your fuzzy manacles." He remembered a prisoner in the dungeon, who seemed to relish being chained to the wall. Vaisey's Dungeon Keeper had been at a loss for words. "Have you ever used them?" 

Genevieve was glad it was dark so Guy wouldn't see the heat of her face. "Uhm... no. I had just bought them."

"Purchased them for who to use on you?" She remained quiet and Guy realized that Genevieve was hurting. Hurting like he was hurting. "So you would like for someone to restrain you."

Again, she was quiet. "Genevieve?" 

"I've never... no one..."

"Genevieve. Would you like to be tied up?" 

"Maybe." 

Guy rolled his eyes. "I do not understand you. At times you are very bold and other times, you are shy. Why?" 

Silence.

"I desire an answer, Genevieve." 

"I've... not had that many partners," she exploded in a rush. "I know you think I've been with a hundred men. I haven't." 

"Somehow, since our original discussion," he whispered in the shell of her ear, "I have changed my mind about your earthy, sinful nature. I never thought you had lain with many men." He covered her hand and shifted it, putting slight pressure on her middle finger. "Press a little bit harder there. So you are shy?" 

"I am curious," she corrected. "And I am afraid." 

"Afraid of what?" Guy's voice hitched. "Not that hard." 

"Sorry." She immediately loosened her grip. "I'm afraid that whoever I ask, will freak out or think I'm... well... weird." 

"You are weird, Genevieve." He grabbed her lest she roll away from him. "Do you trust me?" 

There was only the slightest of hesitation. "Yes, I do." She did not say aloud that she trusted him more than she had ever trusted anyone else. 

"Would you like me to restrain you when you return to my bed?" 

"Guy, I've not left your bed." 

His face was suddenly against hers. "You know what I mean," he hissed. "I would enjoy exploring and taking this journey with you." 

_Something to embed in my memory, to bask in, revel in, when the angels that gave you to me, take you from me._

"Do you want me to restrain-"

"Yes!" she spurted anxiously. She reached up and cupped his chin, relishing the coarseness of his stubble over the palm of her hand. "Yes. I want to explore this you."

Guy nodded once. "That was not so hard. Next letter. 'D'."

His penchant of changing the subject abruptly was daunting at best. "Uhm... D. Dominance. As in dominance and submission. That's when-"

"One partner dominates the other." 

"Yes."

"Like a marriage." Guy had definite, albeit obnoxious opinions about this. "As it should be. A wife should be subservient to her husband and obey him..." it dawned on him the woman in his arms had stiffened up. "...Genevieve? Are you in pain?" 

"Of course, I'm in pain, you twit!" she gasped. The movement of her hand stopped, her fingers squeezing. "Never mind that! Do you really feel that way? That women are... chattel?" 

Part of Guy wanted to dictate terms, this is how it is, but the other half...

Genevieve was from a different time, a different mindset. The fact she was a business owner and was in the process of selling her business, without the aid of a husband or father...

"It is different here, Genevieve," he began slowly. "Women do not own property or land. I take that back. In truth, they can and do, if they are the only child. A good father will ensure she is married to as powerful a man as possible to ensue nothing happens to the estate and to protect her."

"What if she isn't married when he dies?" 

"Then she will be preyed upon like a fox preys on chickens, a wolf hunts sheep. She will be forced into a marriage not of her choosing; unscrupulous men will take advantage. An intelligent or wise woman will seek a strong protector. The more powerful, the better." 

"I don't believe it!" Now she was shaking in anger.

"My grandfather was weeks from forcing my mother to marry an old man, a man twice her age, one she did not know, knowing she was in love with my father. He made that decision because he was wealthy and powerful and he would keep my mother and their children well. They decided to run away. They could not stay because my grandfather would have removed her from my father's household and forced that marriage upon her. She had no choice." 

"So they ran away, left France, and started over." It was quiet for a moment while he allowed her to ruminate on the information. "Why did your father write to you in French? Why not in English?" 

Guy was completely taken aback by the question. Holding himself in check, he spoke carefully, "My mother was French, my father was Norman. Those who can afford to be educated, read and write in French or Latin. English is a peasant's language. The peasants do not know how to read or write; therefore, it is not written." That explained the oddly-written and spelled comment on her notes. He was writing phonetically. "It is not necessary. My mother educated Isabella and myself. When we returned to France, we were allowed to sit in with the tutors with my cousins. For a time." Again, he waited before continuing. "All this talk and yet I believe I made an error. Dominance you speak of has only to do with the bedroom." 

He immediately felt her relax and her grip loosened as she resumed her long stroke. "There are varying degrees ranging from all-encompassing to just in the bedroom." 

"You?" 

"I think, just in the bedroom. As I've told you before, I simply want to please my partner. I shoulder a lot of responsibility with my company and it's a nice thought to come home and let someone else make the decisions. "

"So you have said." His mouth found her ear and he began to nuzzle it. 

"But, my pleasure is his responsibility." She curled into him, torn between the pain in her shoulder and the intense delight he was causing at her ear. 

"Your pleasure is my responsibility," he corrected. "No one else's." He continued on, not giving her a chance to interject or interrupt. "I believe I have proven myself in that capacity, m'lady?"

"Yes, sir."

His mouth quirked at that. "Sir. Somehow I think it does not mean the same thing as my title." 

"No," she smiled. "It's a term, an endearment really, that a submissive calls her dominant. Some use 'sir. Others use 'daddy'." She could see his confusion. "A modern version of 'Dad' or 'Father.'" 

"I am not your 'daddy'." 

Now she grinned, her rhythm staying steady. "No, sir, you are not. Perish the thought."

The lop-sided grin grew wider. "But you admit that you belong to me." 

She squeezed a bit tighter, reminding him she held him in the palm of her hand. "The only thing I am willing to admit to at this point is I'm hurting and I'm probably going to be a whiny baby and ask for some of the magic wine shortly." She continued stroking. "Besides, I understand that expectation and limits are set within the confines of the relationship and to ignore that breaks the trust. Especially the trust of the submissive."

"You act as if this Dominant-submissive partnership is like a... how you would say... a business arrangement." 

She stroked down, twisting her hand slightly, causing delightful shivers yet again. "In a sense, I suppose so. There has to be an understanding on how far a sub will be pushed. At least, that's what I've read." 

A long, calloused finger tipped her chin up. "You have read? More you have not experienced?" 

He felt her swallow hard. "No."

"Something else we get to explore together. I am liking this game more and more."

"There is much more to it, Guy."

"Oh," he nodded enthusiastically. "I am quite sure there is. Again, something to discover together." He was quiet for a few moments, again enjoying her ministrations. "I would think there would have to be balance of sorts. One cannot go about commanding or ordering the one he loves around the entire time."

Genevieve smiled, wondering if he realized what he just said. "No. Truth is I'm rather drawn to the nurturing, protective, soft side of the relationship." 

"Some things are not soft, m'lady." She giggled at that. "I would think that protection is in there some where. Sadism." 

"Sadism." She nodded thoughtfully against his shoulder. "A Sadist. Someone who gains gratification through someone else's suffering." 

"Someone who enjoys hurting others," Guy mused aloud. "I believe you have just described the sheriff." His hand wandered back down again, squeezing hers slightly and speeding up, intensifying the rhythm. "I suppose as... masochist?... is someone who enjoys being hurt."

"Yes. Or someone who enjoys being denied things." 

"Do you enjoy pain?" He couldn't believe he was asking this.

"No." Her shoulder was getting worse. "No. Not at all. I would have had a massive orgasm when I was shot, if that had been the case." 

Guy's hand moved faster, gripped tighter, trapping hers beneath. He kicked the quilt and bed linens down when he felt that familiar thrum, which was soon followed by a hot splattering over his stomach, his nose, face buried in the softness of the woman next to him. Again, as he came down from the ecstasy of the orgasm, Genevieve felt the sweetest bliss of his lips along her forehead. "Thank you," he whispered.

"For what?" 

Guy could hear encroaching pain in her voice. Placing her elbow at her waist, he slid from the bed, going to the wash basin and dipping a small rag in the water. After wiping himself down, he tossed the cloth to the side and wetting another, used it to clean her hand. "I believe," he whispered as he cleaned between her fingers thoroughly, "that it is time for you to drink the... magic wine... and I should check your shoulder." He rose from the bed, stirred the fire, bringing it to life, and then lighting the candles next to the bed.

Genevieve was sitting up, the ache evident on her face, now that the room was lit. "It's stuffy in here." 

"It will remain stuffy," Guy was pouring wine from a carafe into a goblet, "until Hood is dead. I have a feeling he was not a bit penitent when he discovered his arrow went astray." He handed her the goblet. "Drink." 

She made a face before downing the brew. "He should feel bad. I've done nothing to him. I don't understand why he would dislike me, anyway." She handed the empty chalice back to him. "My grandmother tells me I didn't like taking medicine when I was young."

"And the opium frightens you." He exchanged the cup for the small bowl of salve Matilda mixed up before she left. He sat on the bed next to her. "Lean forward." 

The ointment was cool on her shoulder, the burning subsiding a little bit. "That stuff is so oily and greasy, it will probably stain your linens." 

Satisfied with the gooey mess on her still red and swollen shoulder, Guy slid from the bed to put the small container back on the table and to wash his hands yet again. "Then Eleanor will have something to do. She wishes to spoil you, so she may wash your linens. Fiona wishes to dote on you, so be prepared to eat quite a bit of chicken soup." Guy began to blow out the lamps and candles. "The woman truly believes chicken soup will cure everything." 

"She would like my grandmother." Genevieve scooted to the far side of the bed to give Guy room. "All I had to do was get a runny nose and before I knew it, she would be out in the henhouse with her hatchet and before I could yell, 'But that's my favorite hen!', poor thing would be in a stew pot!" 

There was one, low candle left and Guy set it on the table by the bed, double checking to ensure the bed curtains were well away from the flame. He crawled into the bed and pulling the quilt up, he tucked her in under his arm, ensuring she was on her side and no weight pressed on her shoulder. "Do you miss her?" 

Genevieve thought for a moment, not that her answer required thought, but because... "Yes, I do and before you ask, when the time comes, I will miss you." She burrowed in, yawning. "I'm sure that statement will either frighten you, or will make your head swell so big, you will be unbearable. I will simply claim I was doped up and had no clue what I was saying." 

Guy could feel her body relaxing, leaning into him, her legs wrapping around his leg closest to her. "She lives with you? In the same town?" 

"No." She was still yawning. "She lives in Kentucky, a few hundred miles away. I usually go home for Thanksgiving or Christmas, although I didn't last year." 

"Why not?" 

"My boyfriend took me to Colorado to ski." 

Guy's heart stopped. "A boyfriend. What is your 'boyfriend'?" Somehow, he had a feeling he knew the answer and it was not one he was going to like.

Genevieve burrowed in. "Someone I was romantically involved with."

Guy's stopped heart dropped into his stomach. Much like it had when Marian told him she loved Hood. "You have someone waiting for you when you return?" He was glad his broadsword was nowhere nearby.

She shook her head against his shoulder, her mind and body falling deeper under the influence of the drug. "No. Not anymore." The knight released a breath he didn't realize he was holding in relief. Her arm snaked around Guy's torso. "I hated every minute of it. It was cold and I could barely make it down the bunny run."

Guy didn't know what skiing was, much less a bunny run. "Why would a woman want a romantic friend who is a boy? You need one who is a man!" 

She smiled against him as she snuggled in. "I need a Dom."

He snaked his arm beneath her neck and drew her in. "You have a Sir."

"Even better," she agreed softly. 

It was quiet for some time, Guy musing on many things, things that bothered him mostly. 

_Lavender... Marian... Hood...something happened in the church... he still could not figure that, but the friar had been right. He felt... better than he had in some time. He still harbored much guilt over Marian's death, but-_

"Guy?" 

"Yes, Genevieve."

She was more asleep than awake and he figured she was simply nodding-

"You must have loved her very much." 

Guy knew who she was talking about. She had told him before he cried in his sleep. Trying to hold on to the peaceful feeling, he whispered in her ear. "Truthfully Genevieve, I am not quite sure what love is or what it feels like anymore." He thought for a moment, something he realized he was doing more and more since Genevieve arrived. 

_But she used me... used my feelings for her against me...used me to protect her father, to feed information to Hood..._

"I had feelings for her. I was... stirred... by her."

"Stirred." Genevieve's voice was getting softer, more relaxed. "Strange way to say 'love'." She burrowed her head on his shoulder, a motion Guy realized was her getting comfortable. "Sounds to me like lust." The drug was most certainly affecting her, loosening her tongue. 

Guy was now staring into the curtains above his head. "Aye, it could be," he admitted. He tamped down on those thoughts. He remembered wanting Marian, wanting her badly, wanting her willing, excited to come to him, to be with him. He was willing to forgive everything she had done to him. He still forgave her everything... almost. "I loved her." For some minutes, it was quiet, only the sound of the fireplace audible. In a moment of weakness, curiosity, the knight softly murmured, "Have you ever been stirred by anyone?" 

"Stirred? Me?" Genevieve snorted. "Oh yeah, I've been stirred."

"By who?" 

"By... cheesecake."

And with that, she went to sleep.

_**~~~...~~~** _

Guy let it be known that there was now a price on Hood's head. Fifty pieces of silver, an enormous amount, and that he would personally pay the taxes on it. He sent Joffrey and Michael the Red into Nottingham to ensure the peace was kept.

He was certain someone would tell Vaisey he had holed up with Genevieve for some days. Under the circumstances, he would take the punishment if there was any. Of course, if Vaisey returned to see Hood's head on a spike, Vaisey's Master of Arms would be forgiven every sin he had ever committed. 

Well, every sin committed in Vaisey's eyes. Guy was certain he would always be chained and bound by Marian's death and Vaisey considered Marian's death a blessing. 

Several times, he went riding with his men, to search the forest, the lesser paths. At least, he could claim he was actively searching for Hood. 

Genevieve refused to take opium-infused wine after a day and a half. Her fear of becoming addicted to the opium was acute. She instead drank much willow bark tea and took the Tylenol in her purse, crying often for Tylenol-3, whatever Tylenol-3 was. Sometimes, he wondered if the Tylenol was as addictive as what she claimed the opium was. Guy also noticed that no matter how many of the little blue and red capsules she took, by the time he reopened the container again, they were returned, replenished. 

Two days after the incident, she asked for the return of her crucifix. She claimed she felt naked without it - even though she was naked at the time, much to Guy's delight.

When he picked it up from the mantle, he felt it vibrate, hum. It grew very warm in his hands, enough to where he was loathe to put it around Genevieve's neck, lest it burn her.

But she didn't seem bothered by it, or it wasn't warm for her. As he closed the small latch, it felt as if something within the small silver ornament attempted to attach itself to him. Obviously, in his mind, it was reacting to the evil within him and that saddened him. Despite his outpouring of grief and pleading for forgiveness and atonement on the altar at the church, perhaps this was God's way of saying there was no hope for him, that he was doomed to hell.

By the third day, she grew weary and cranky staying in bed and being waited on hand and foot by not only the servants, but by Sir Guy. She was especially tired of him hanging around the door when she had to go to the bathroom, which she felt invaded her privacy. Telling him the staff could damn well get used to her traipsing all over the hall in her jeans and his shirt pulled up around her armpits, she managed to make it down the stairs to sit at the table, only to discover she was too tired to eat. She was carried back up the stairs and put back to bed. 

After several days, Guy returned to some of his normal duties; going into Nottingham in the morning, overseeing the maintenance of the hall, assigning the rotations of the guards, dispensing 'justice', some of it rough. 

Most of it rough. Just, fair, but rough. 

Responses were coming for the faire, not only for merchants and crafters, but participants as well. 

Sir Rodrick sent his regards. He would come and was looking forward to knocking Guy off his horse again, a statement that made Isabella laugh. Guy's shoulder and side ached just to think about it.

Also, there was business he wished to discuss. 

Guy hoped that business would be Timmy. And if the situation with Vaisey continued to grow bothersome, Joffrey as well. He had made Joffrey a promise and provided Joffrey came through on his end of the deal, he would keep that promise.

Isabella was in her element. There was nothing more she liked than a party, and she was quite adept in planning and executing one. As before, the gaming tables were set up. Guy rather doubted the Barvarian Count - who was not the booby Vaisey thought he was - would have refused the invitation had it been sent. But nobles were coming from all around. Guy recognized many of the names. 

The Black Brotherhood. Oh, they would be there in force. 

Isabella presented him with the bill for her clothing. He gagged at the thought of clothing _two_ women. At least, she had not partaken in Isandra's skills, and as he was leaving that day, he stopped by her stall to ensure that Genevieve's clothing would not only be ready in time, but _worthy_ of the lady they were being made for.

He was reminded about jewelry.

Which reminded him to gag.

The thought of bringing Genevieve into this snakepit turned his stomach. He would have to keep watch on her and when he couldn't, he would have to keep a guard on her at all times. He didn't trust Vaisey.

He didn't trust Hood.

Word reached Isabella that the reason why her brother stayed away for several days was due to the fact his 'house guest' had been shot by the outlaw, Hood.

She didn't believe it. Not for a minute. Didn't want to. Guy had to remind her that in the eyes of The Church and the law, she was still married.

With the enforced bed rest, Genevieve could have taken the time to work on her contract. Truth however, she didn't have the heart for it, was dragging her feet and instead, spent the time reading about knights in shining armor and rogues and pirates, damsels in distress and damsels not really in distress and dark, broody knights in beat-up armor...

and more knights.

She worked on the plans for future projects. If she remained as head of her business, and the sale did not go through, which she had decided she wasn't going to go through with, her employees needed work. She had at least three months worth of projects already on the agenda, so there were no worries for that amount of time. She worked on the plans for her home, daydreaming with her heart and someone else in mind; deciding to scrap the pretentious ones she'd made for her and Lamar and their two point five perfect children and replacing them with something more... homey, cozy... and rustic. 

She hid those from Guy.

Or so she thought. 

As the week progressed, Genevieve grew stronger. Her lack of independence and having to rely on others made her become cranky and she began to become mouthy. 

"You realize," Guy said drolly at the dinner table one night, "that I am keeping record of your gutter talk and will punish you accordingly when you are well." He popped a honeyed grape into his mouth, his leg swinging over the chair leg. She was still pale, still moved slowly and still slept more than normal. Her shoulder was itching with fire. Fiona assured him and her this was normal.

"Promise?" 

The left side of his mouth quirked up. "Cheeky wench. You are asking for it." 

Genevieve stood up. She had returned finally to wearing the tunics to her main outfits, the top loosened to give her injury room and air. Isandra had delivered the things for the faire, dutifully tutted and moaned over Genevieve's injury, which would not show, and Guy was forced to leave his own hall for several hours due to the amounts of girlish laughter and giggling and screeching over the clothing. Her bedroom door was actually slammed in his face, but not before the French modiste presented him with a bill larger than the one his sister presented him with and the glimpse of red and blue and red and black and red and gold and purple and more red. It grated on his nerves and he retaliated by going to the field designated as the jousting area and furiously ramming hay bales disguised as Robin Hood and his men for several hours. 

But at this moment, she stood up straight and rolled her neck to the side. "I am. You said for me to say when; I'm saying when." She leaned over the chair and whispered in his ear, "When. I want my toys back tonight." 

And with that, she flounced up the stairs and into the bath.

Guy smirked, swinging his foot and lifted his wine goblet to his lips. "One. Not both. Not yet."

_**~~~...~~~** _

Guy gave instructions for the bath to be cleaned and readied for another bath after she finished. He interrupted her, made Eleanor giggle, - who had grown quite used to Sir Guy's and Lady Genevieve's rather unusual and sinful relationship - using the ruse to check her shoulder. He spent some minutes kissing her neck, the back of her neck, her ear.

"What would you like," he asked. "Tell me how to make this perfect for you."

This admission shocked her and it obviously showed on her face.

"We are going on this journey together, m'lady," he reminded her. "If you are to trust me, I would like to know."

Genevieve sank further into the tub. "Candles. Not lamps or the overhead candles. Just... low candles. And open the shutters."

"Hood-"

"Forget Hood." Genevieve was as close to a whine without being at one. "I do not want him to ruin our night." She burrowed her cheeks into the palms of his hands. "Please."

So, Guy caved in to her wishes, ignoring his better judgment. 

The room, for lack of a better term, had been primed, lit, for romance. 

Or seduction.

The shutters of the window were thrown back and the night air comfortably cool, something both occupants would relish in and be grateful for within the hour. After some thought, Guy assigned several guards on the hillside patrolling, keeping watch, throughout the night. If Hood got a wild hair, he could get it somewhere else or on another night. The fireplace was stoked, roaring, lighting the entire area. If it were not for the open window, the room would have been almost unbearable warm.

Genevieve stretched. 

It was all she could do. 

For not the first time, she tested the strength of the bonds, her fingers arching, reaching, testing the stitches, the wound in her shoulder…

“Are you in pain?” Guy was still straddling her, knees at her hips and the ends of the newly tied scarves in his hands.

“No. Not really.”

"You are or you are not. 'Not really' is not an answer." Guy tilted his head, his eyebrow arched. “I will untie you if it bothers you. You do not like pain and I do not like administering it.” He dropped the scarves and tenderly caressed her abdomen with his fingertips, again fascinated by the softness of her skin. The pads of his fingers were calloused, the rough edges sending tingles up Genevieve’s spine. "We can wait. I am patient."

"Well, I am not!" she snapped. Genevieve lifted her head. “What fun would that be? Besides, it was my idea.” 

“You will tell me if it hurts, if you are uncomfortable, if you are frightened.” He continued tracing erratic patterns on her stomach. “I do not wish to cause you any pain. Hood has put you through enough.”

“Yes. I will say the safe word if it hurts or I want to stop.”

“Banana.” Again, his head tilted. Unlike his partner, who was completely naked, Guy was partially dressed; wearing only the long-sleeved black poet’s shirt. It was long, to his hips, his semi-erect prick teasing from beneath the bottom of the shirt, where Genevieve, if she raised her head, could see. “Stupid word. Why do you say it, again?” He shifted, making himself more at ease. He now sat perpendicular to her below her hips. Her left leg was curled around him, encased and held in place by his right foot and ankle, while his left leg and foot stretched across the bed, holding her right leg away from him. Her butterfly vibe was within reach between their legs.

“You are being redundant."

And thoroughly exposing her femininity to him. 

_Does she have any idea how beautiful she is?_  
  
“Allow me to be redundant. Why not ‘stop’?” he continued.

"We've been through this before. You are delaying the inevitable."

"Refresh my memory. I wish to be clear."

The boy was being obtuse. 

"I am exploring my... how you would say... my more sadistic traits. I enjoy hearing you repeat yourself."

"Liar."

While the retort was hissed, it made Guy laugh; a sound not often heard from. "You are correct, but I am the Dom, so tell me again."

“Because Guy,” Genevieve continued to stretch, concentrating on the long scarves and trying to not think of him, down there, looking at her…

_\- girly parts -_

“-think about it. Stop. Don’t. Stop. Don’t. Stop. Don’t stop-“

“Ah. Yes, of course. So very, very safe it elicits terror to my very being." At this point, Genevieve discerned he had been teasing with her the entire time. "Banana.” He played with the still unfamiliar word. “Ba-nah-nah. Bananananana.”

Genevieve smiled at the unbelievable playful attitude of this normally very serious, reserved man. No one would believe it. “Silly man.”

“Do not,” he waved a finger at her in admonishment, “tell a soul.” Leisurely, he slid his right index and middle fingers down her groin, encasing that which made her female and back up, squeezing the folds of skin between them together, gently manipulating her clitoris. He repeated this motion several times, slowly, dragging out the sensation. Without warning, he switched to three fingers, his index and ring encasing her, his middle digit cutting a sweet swath between her lips, teasing her clit, testing the waters. 

She jumped, inhaling sharply.

Guy quickly lifted his hand. “Banana?” 

Genevieve jerked her head up to look at him. “NO! It feels good. I just…” he resumed the foreplay, “wasn’t expectiiing that…” With a contented sigh, she began to move with him, her hips moving in an age-old rhythm that from this unusual point of view, Guy found strangely erotic. 

He twitched. 

He shifted position, resettling and brushing up against Genevieve’s leg, before concentrating again on her. Her breathing was becoming erratic, heavier, as she pulled on the scarves and continued to undulate. “Firmer. Please. A little… firmer.”

He followed her wishes, watching her, watching her face, her torso flush. “Genevieve?”

“Hmm mmm?” It came out as a low-pitched groan.

Guy raised his hand, stopping the loving assault. “You may not...come?" Guy's vocabulary was expanding by leaps and bounds, thanks to the late night chats until one or the other - usually Genevieve - fell asleep. "Not yet.”

“ARGH! You tease!” Her hips rose and fell once, bouncing hard on the bed. Guy’s eyebrow rose, seeing the invitation in the thrust. “Evil thing! Ow.”

He smirked at her sentiment. “Yes. Yes, I am.” Abandoning her lower regions for the time being, he rose up, straddling her and nudging her legs together, he leaned over, bracing his forearms on the mattress. He bent over, kissing her sweetly. “I plan on a long, long evening, Genevieve. I do not wish for it to end too soon.”

Genevieve’s eyes shot open, the orbs burning bright. “I recover quickly.”

Guy shrugged before continuing his oral assault on the spot below her ear. “We shall see. Truthfully, I'm not so sure about this. If your shoulder pains you, I will stop for the evening.” He continued to worry the lobe, giving her complete access to his neck and Adam’s apple. Feeling her teeth drag on his exposed skin, he admitted to himself that she gave as good as she got, despite her recent infirmity. 

Again, she pulled at the restraints, her fingers clawing at air. "Why not my handcuffs?"

“I want you to have some room to move. I do not desire for you to further the damage to your shoulder." He looked up, suddenly concerned. "Would you like me to untie you?”

Her look was pure lust. “Do I get to tie you up?”

_Ah._

That slow, slow smile that made her nipples perk spread across his face. “No. I have been tied up enough.”

Genevieve’s jaw dropped in shock. “What? And I missed it?” Clearly, she thought-

“It was not fun, Genevieve. I was a prisoner.” With two fingers, he tipped her mouth shut. “It was not pleasurable.” Guy was not about to tell her Hood had tied him to a tree more than once, nor would he admit to his tawdry and illicit affair with Aedyth. That secret he would ashamedly take with him to his grave, even though it was most likely the least of his sins. “It was nothing I care to experience again.” Now he leaned over, his nose touching, tracing hers. “You are the tie-ee and I am the tie-er. I tie you up. Always.” With that, his mouth claimed hers; not the normal sweet, butterfly kisses he gave, but deep, his teeth nibbling, worrying her lower lip, his tongue immediately soothing the minute hurt. Slowly, he moved down her body, leaving a trail of honey with his mouth. He taunted both breasts just long enough to make her moan and to tease her into wanting more. Slowly, he drew in each nipple, one at a time, worrying them, pleasuring, the heat of his mouth a delight, before sitting up and moving back to his original position below her hips. He pulled his shirt over his head and threw it to the floor before repositioning her legs, spreading her apart. Again, he started up his very gentle foreplay, manipulating her, fascinated by the flush of blood and by her movements with him. After some minutes of teasing her, he reached down and picked up the toy. 

“What do you call this again?” 

Genevieve’s breathing was heavy. “A butterfly vibe.” His right hand continued to massage. 

Guy’s eyebrow rose and he smirked, lopsidedly. “This is nasty,” he proclaimed, wickedly. 

“You will like it.”

“I believe,” and with this, he shook the device at her, “you will like it more.” As his empty hand stroked downward, his middle finger found the very heat and core of her, going deep, causing her to rise to meet him. 

She cried out, a low moan. This time however, he did not stop; he knew what this whimper was and it was not one of pain, but of need. 

The next stroke down, he inserted two fingers. 

She was wet; wet heat and velvet and Guy thought to himself he had never lain with a woman whose core was molten fire. Not until her. As she rose to meet him, arching, yearning for that inner storm, he marveled at the wantonness of her desire, something he now knew only he had successfully answered, something he awoke within her. That she was curious and yearned to explore, only made him harder and determined to keep her with him.

"Genevieve?"

"Oh, GOD, don't stop! Pleeeeeease..."

He withdrew his fingers, sufficiently pleased by the amount of very visible moisture on them. 

She responded with a whine.

"Genevieve," he continued, his tone rather detached, "have you ever tasted your essence?" 

"No." It was whispered.

Guy took the two fingers that shortly before had been buried within her and hovered above her lips before caressing the bottom lip with them, coating them thoroughly. "You taste divine. More so when your essence is liberally mixed with mine." He pressed on her lips, her mouth opening almost involuntarily, sucking the digits in. Her tongue whipped around them, causing Guy to momentarily recall her on her knees in the tub, her mouth and tongue wrapped around his cock...

_We taste delectable. As if we were meant to be..._

The memory caused him to twitch painfully and he stared off, away, at the numerous holes in his headboard, reminding him of why this woman was injured.

"Genevieve," his voice was raspy as he pulled his fingers from her mouth, "I fear perhaps this is too much, too soon for you. We should wait-" 

"Don't you dare stop!" She was adamant. "If it is too much, I will tell you. You will know." 

"Promettez-moi?"

She struggled for a moment, attempting to translate before it dawned on her. "I promise." They studied at each other for several moments, the unspoken communication between them gaining strength over the past few days. "I promise," she reiterated. "Please don't leave me in this state." She nodded to his obvious arousal. "I wouldn't leave you like that." 

Watching her closely, he reached for the vibrator, picking it up. He examined the pink... bulbous... butterfly. Truly, it was the crudest thing he had ever laid eyes on - aside from Vaisey. He studied the two levers on the black handle-

_off_

_lo_

_med_

_hi_

"This needs some sort of...wet..."

"Lubrication. Put your fingers back in." 

Guy shook his head. "Oh, that was not the correct way to say that." 

"Please sir, please put your fingers back in." 

Three fingers were slowly inserted, stretching her, filling her. She groaned, rising to meet the gentle thrust. He coaxed her, guided her to a new level of need, relishing in the knowledge that only he had done this, only he had brought her to this mountain top...

Guy slid his fingers out and he relished her groan of frustration. "Genevieve, look at me." He waited until she opened her eyes, the pupils glazed in nothing but lust. He wiggled the vibrator. "This needs... lubrication."

"I'm plenty wet."

He wagged his head. "True, but," he pointed at her, "I believe it would enter more smoothly if it were already... wet." 

She blinked. "I should have lube somewhere in my bag. If not-"

"No. I will not dig through your belongings." This made Genevieve snort. That man had been through her bag several times that she knew of and a few times she didn't. Before she could muse further, she discovered the tip at her mouth. "I do not wish to rise from the bed. Open up."

She shook her head no.

"Genevieve." He tapped her lip.

Again she shook her head no.

Guy sighed rather dramatically and pulled the dildo back about a foot. "This is truly a sad state of affairs." He sighed dramatically. "And here I was under the assumption that you would obey my every command."

"Well, it's just that its just disgusting! It probably tastes like Rubmmmrph!" When Genevieve opened her mouth to rant, Guy quickly inserted it much like a pacifier.

"Lick it." 

"Hrmmmmmph!" 

"'Tis already there. The sooner you get it wet, the sooner I will pull it out and put it elsewhere." His eyes darkened, smoldered. "Somewhere you will like. Suck it." 

Knowing he was right - how galling - Genevieve followed instructions, snarling at the taste and not successfully imagining it was something she would have preferred to have in her mouth. After a minute and satisfied that she had substantially lubricated the vibe, Guy removed it, inspected it with a disgusting smirk-

"You could have pretended it was something pleasurable to lick." Very gently, carefully, he spread her, pushing her far leg further from him with his foot. Again, he encased her being with three fingers, ensuring she was wet and her clit was still engorged. On his second pass, he only used two fingers, using them to open her, spread her, so that she was completely exposed to the air. 

_To him._

While admiring the beauty of her, he inserted the vibe, obviously enthralled by how Genevieve gyrated and lifted to house it within her body. 

"Well, it certainly doesn't taste like ice cr-"

He thumbed both switches up.

There was a muffled whine.

"-eamBANANABANANABANANABANANA!" She lifted from the bed, trying to pull away.

Guy yanked it from her body, alarm on his features. The thing was still vibrating madly, the juices from her body, liberally coating it. The room was rent with her muskiness. 

Genevieve tried to pull her legs together, her breathing, erratic and heavy. He could hear her panting, "-odohgodohgodohgod..."

"Should I untie you? Touch you? What do you need?" At this moment, she appeared to be more distressed than she was when she was shot. 

"Massage... it. Ohgodohgodoh-" Her breathing slowed as he gently kneaded her mons and lower lips, concern clearly written on his face. "-ooooh..."

"Why did you obtain this if it would hurt you?" 

"Didn't hurt. Too much, too fast," she gasped. "Too intense." Guy waited until her breathing returned to a more normal pace, watching as began to respond to him. 

"Shall we stop? Should I untie you?" He rose on his knees to do just that.

"NO!" It was sudden, forceful. "Don't... give up." She licked her lips and watched him settle back down.

"This is too soon," Guy reiterated. "We should wait until you are further healed."

"You said you wanted to go on this journey with me?" Genevieve watched him nod. "Then we've hit a small stone in the path. What if I am returned before I'm fully healed?" That thought occurred to Guy, although he refused to speak it aloud or dwell on it. "I want to experience this with you. Now. The first time. I want it to be with you. Now, pick up the vibe again."

"Who is the Dom here in this bed?" He picked it up anyway. "Who is Sir?" 

"You are, Sir. Please. I want to try again. Don't give up."

He nodded at her plea. Picking up the butterfly, he inspected it. "We must do this differently."

Again, she tested the bonds, stretching. "On the handle, the black part, there are two sliding levers. Turn them to 'low' and insert slowly." Guy looked at her, one eyebrow arched. "That way it isn't such a shock. Please, Sir." 

This time, the hum was lower pitched, the rotation not as frantic. As he slowly worked the instrument in a place where he himself wanted to reside, he watched as she undulated and accommodated it, working to achieve. From this angle, Guy was able to watch, fascinated, as she worked, accomplish the peak. 

"Oh Sh-"

He pulled it out, causing her to screech. "I did not give you permission to swear." 

Genevieve's chest was heaving and Guy swore if her eyes were truly able to shoot daggers, he would be one dead knight. He waited a moment before reinserting it.

This time, when she came, she lifted from the bed, back arched, tendons in her chest, shoulders and neck, pronounced, the wail wrenched from her throat. 

He gave no quarter, gave her no rest. The second time, he ordered her not to make a sound. 

The bed shook with her bouncing, the straps beneath creaking, groaning in protestation. Guy feared for her wound, but checking it while he allowed her respite between orgasms, came down, he found it was not oozing, nor were the stitches split. 

The third time, she gasped in frustration of not being allowed to verbalize much of anything. By now, the room was enveloped in a musky scent that Guy recognized as being her unique blend of desire. He reveled in it, gloried that he did this to her.

The fourth time, he allowed her to moan, groan. This time he removed the futuristic object when she completed this turn, crawled between her legs and feasted, almost drowned in her juices, reveling in the feel of her legs wrapped around his neck. He spread her as his personal banquet table, and lapped at her, delighted in the softness of her and for the first time that he could remember, openly raptured at the strong scent of her desire, for no other reason than he knew she desired him and only him.

The fifth time... he lifted himself from between her legs and rather than place himself within her, he reinserted the butterfly. 

The sixth time... he moved the levers to 'med' and he granted swearing whispered in exhaustion.

The seventh time...

A sheen had broken out on her body, dripping rivulets between her breasts and Guy had a mad desire to lay himself between them and ride her to his own completion. Breathing was a chore and she was too weary to speak, much less move. Guy had returned to his original position, his legs and feet continuing to hold hers apart, all of her exposed to him. For the first time in his life while she lay spent, he took precious time examining a woman's beauty, appreciating the exquisiteness of it, of her and he came to the conclusion that he adored her for allowing him this moment. It was a gift she gave him, whether she realized it or not. She was red, swollen, dripping, Guy's fingers slowly massaging the throbbing pulse he could feel beneath his fingers. He was impressed, nay, jealous of her ability to convulse with orgasm after orgasm, her body requiring little to no time to begin again. Whether she needed reprieve between climaxes or not, was a different story and one she had not verbalized.

Considering her labored breathing, he wondered if she had not spoken of her need to rest or was too exhausted to say a word.

"Banana?"

She shook her head negatively. "Let me catch my breath," she panted. "I'm good for another round." 

For some odd reason, Guy had a sinking suspicion that Genevieve simply did not wish to give up, did not wish for this to end, to cry 'finish' or, most likely, she did not wish for him to think less of her, that he might consider her as weak for giving up. But at the same time, he desperately needed release. Looking at her again, he thought that sinking into that beautiful heat would be his undoing, her undoing, and it would pain her needlessly. Despite the abundance of natural lubrication, she looked tender and as he stated, he was patient. "No, you're not." 

"You need to finish." 

Guy rose up and set the vibe on the small table next to the bed. "You are too swollen and raw for me to even think of it." 

"Please don't do this to yourself. I can handle it." Genevieve was breathless, fatigue lining her face. "You don't even have to wait for me," she finished with a tired grin. "I'm probably so wet, I won't feel a thing."

"Banana. Say it."

She shook her head. "Untie me. Please sir."

That - _please_ \- was _his_ undoing. He knelt between her legs, tugged at the slipknots, those she herself could have pulled loose, watching as the scarves fell about her head. The moment they were free, she grasped him around the neck and pulled him towards her, her mouth seeking his. Her legs wrapped around his hips, her heat seeking his. As he had the first time they made love, he traveled her outer wares, coating himself liberally. As his mouth made that honey trail to her ear, he whispered. "Are you sure?" 

She responded by snaking her hand between them, grasping him and placing him at her entrance, and then using that same hand and her legs to press him forward.

 

He sank into a lava pit so hot, he thought he would burn, however he discovered that she was correct. She was so wet, he was having difficulty finding his own rhythm. 

Her fingers were in his hair, one arm snaked beneath his arm and she cried when he pulled away and pulled her arms from him. "Roll over." 

"Noooo..."

It dawned on him that she had just had several hard orgasms and he recalled guiltily that those in his past who he entertained for a time afterwards desired to be held close and kissed. He admitted to himself, he enjoyed giving and receiving such sweetness. 

"Roll over." Removing himself from between her legs, he did the task for her, listening to her quiet wails of protestation. As she came to rest on her stomach, he wrapped his arm beneath her, lifting her slightly. He reached and grabbed a pillow, putting it under her, before resinking into that volcanic pit he now considered his. He then reached around, cupping her chin and pulled her head back, forcing her lower back to arch and her hips up to reach him. Blindly her mouth searched, found his thumb and nipped at the calloused pads. This very act, the angle and the warmth of her, set him on a path he refused to pull back from. 

She was so wet, so slippery, both were covered in a drenching of perspiration, slick...

His mouth found her ear, his tongue, his heavy breathing matching his slow, deep strokes. 

"You want this?" 

"Oh God yes." 

"You want me?" 

"Yesyesyesplease."

"Always?" 

There was no hesitation. "Yes, yes..."

He reached between her legs, stroked her clit, causing her to jump, almost in pain. Despite being in the haze of his own lust, he released it, now simply using his hand, his fingers to cup her, their moving gyrations stroking gently. 

"You want me?" 

"Yessssssss."

"You want this." It was no longer a question.

"Yesssssss..."

"Always..."

"...yessssssssssssss..."

"Come with me."

"I can't."

"Yes you can."

"I can't. Too...tired."

She was misunderstanding the question and at that moment, Guy didn't care. Rearing his head back, he pulled her head up, ramming hard to purposely quicken his completion. His final roar echoed in her ears. 

"...mine..."

He pined her to the bed... one... two... three hard thrusts, the third going in as far as he could, pressing her to the bed. He turned her chin loose, his hand almost going to her shoulder to press her further, only to stop inches from that wound. He was throbbing, she felt it, her breath matching his. As before, he collapsed on her, pressing her into the mattress, both too fatigued to anything but breathe in tandem. 

Sometime later, they turned back the bed to air dry the wet spot, the shutters to the room thrown up to vent it as well. They then retired to the bathing room, filling the tub with the hot water left for their own use. Genevieve lay wasted, exhausted from not only the activity, but she was still healing. Ensconced in Guy's arms, she felt safe, protected. 

"Shall we do this again soon?" Guy had a sea sponge, a sort of souvenir from his first trip to the Holy Lands. He rubbed it across her back and shoulders, staying away from the arrow wound. It was healing nicely, quickly in his eyes. 

"Bathe?" Genevieve was smiling. "Of course we'll bathe again!" She arched into his hand. "Silly man." 

"Noooo," he drew it out. "Will you allow me to tie you up again. Were your expectations met?" 

"Oh, yeah. We'll do that again. Just..." her voice trailed away.

"Just what?" 

"Just I needed more of this." She was now sitting sideways between his legs, curled up, and snuggled up under his chin. "I need a lot of this."

_So do I._

Guy began to rinse the suds from her. "I feared I was hurting you." 

"Seven forced orgasms, Guy. It is a pleasure that is painful. Or is it a pain that feels good?" She looked over her shoulder, seeing his confusion. "I didn't have to work for them. Every point in my anatomy down there that is geared to being stimulated was. Except my breasts. Had you played with them, while doing that, I would hit the ceiling, most likely." 

"Ah. More options," he breathed in her ear. He wanted to tell her he loved watching her, watching her face, her body contort. He wanted to tell her he learned more about a woman's body in that span of time she was tied to the post of his bed, that he loved learning how to manipulate, tease, touch...bring her joy. "I should like to blindfold you," she caught her breath at that, holding it, "perhaps gag you."

"No! Blindfold, we'll talk about, gag no."

"And why?" 

He felt her tense up. "I can't see when I'm blindfolded."

"I believe that is the point."

"NONONONONO! I fear..." he waited for her to catch her breath. "I'm scared of getting hurt." 

"Which is why you do not wish for me to gag you." 

"Yes." She relaxed. 

He wrapped his arms around her, his mouth tracing molten fire from her ear to her neck. "Be with me."

Hers snaked around his head, keeping him close, in place. "Oh, yes." 

"Come with me."

Genevieve sagged against him. "You asked me that earlier. Somehow, I don't think it means what I thought you meant." 

Guy inhaled. He couldn't believe he was asking this. "If they give you a choice, tell them no. Come with me. Be with me. We'll move to France, far away from this God-forsaken place. Start again."

Genevieve's heart was torn. She heard the need in his voice, stronger than desire. She herself, felt a painful tugging, to leave her life behind and start again with this man. "Guy, you've worked your life to get to this point." She made lazy circles in the cooling water. "To regain what was yours, your father's. Land, power...I do not know a man who does not desire glory." 

He snorted. "Glory of what? To be a lackey? A henchman?" 

"You have a point there." With that, she leaned against him and nodded off. Guy waited for her breathing to even out. 

"Ensuite, prenez-moi avec vous. Ne me laisse pas seul ici."

_**~~~...~~~** _

On the hill, where he had stood a week before, Robin listened to the wailing carrying across the hamlet's pond and into the woods. "Dear God, what is he doing to her?"

"It is not what he is doing to her, but perhaps the aftermath of what you did to her!" Tuck's voice was a hiss in the outlaw's ear. "You did shoot her, remember? Do you not recall the sounds from the tents that housed the injured? She was in a great deal of pain." 

Now, finally, Robin felt shame, sorrow. "I should apologize, I suppose."

Tuck shook his head and walked away. Allan stood on the other side. "Oi. Wot? Send 'er a fruit basket or somin'..."

"Or something." Robin turned and followed Tuck back into the forest. 

Leaving Allan with his musings.

_**~~~...~~~** _

_**you were a wolf in the night to fetch me, back.** _

_**~~~...~~~** _

_Ensuite, prenez-moi avec vous. Ne me laisse pas seul ici._ \- Then take me with you. Do not leave me here alone. 


	23. 22 ...in...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before I get started, I want to again thank everyone for reading, as well as the kind comments that have been left for this fic. I so very much appreciate it.

_**Manna from Heaven** _

_**Chapter 22** _

_**...in...** _

"Gisborne! There you are!" Vaisey pushed back from the table and gestured grandly. "Just the Master at Arms I wanted to see! Sit!" He motioned to the empty chair to his left and snapped his fingers, ordering the servant to set the knight a plate. He continued eating as Guy settled down, watching as the servant served the platters and waited for the sheriff to load his plate again and take a bite before serving himself. For someone so short of stature and size, Vaisey ate in over-healthy abundance and relish. Guy had no idea where the man put it all.

Guy poured a cup of the hot Turkish drink his over-bearing overlord was so fond of. Truth was, he enjoyed it as well, but it was expensive, and for the most part, for himself personally, the knight was rather frugal, so he enjoyed Vaisey's when it was offered. "How was your trip, m'lord?" 

"Splendid, splendid." He cut into an egg, barely done, which is how he preferred it. Obviously, he was in a very good mood. 

_Either that, or he was up to something. Enjoy it while you can._

Vaisey waited until Guy's mouth was full before beginning. His own plate now empty, he pushed it to the side, propped both elbows on the table and rested his chin on his hands. "Junior gave me very little trouble once I reminded him I had his father's signature as is. He will tow the line and he will not ask for Sussex again. Much less a leper." The last sentence was a mumble Guy barely caught. He shifted subjects quickly. "I hear you hung a man!" 

Guy nodded, seeming to concentrate on his own plate and what was in his mouth. He was jarred by an overly-hard friendly punch to the shoulder. 

"Good for you! Good for you! I'm proud of you!" Vaisey filled his cup again with steaming Turkish brew. "I had begun to wonder if you had it in you!" He tipped a bit of milk in it, changing the color. Another thing Guy didn't understand; why pay so much for it, if you're going to dilute it? He preferred his dark and bitter.

_Just like you are. Or were._

He'd left Genevieve asleep in his ... their...bed, hair tousled about and hugging his pillow. She'd been warm and snuggly and Guy had to force himself to leave her. He knew things would change if, when she learned the truth. Until that moment, he would delight in her, as much as she would allow.

Vaisey was rattling on, standing now, his chair scraping painfully across the floor. "You've worried me, as of late. All you've had on your mind are lepers and sweet, smelling things, like puppies and kittens. I feared you'd grown soft." The next thing Guy knew, the man was behind him, leaning over, embracing him around his shoulders, his mouth at his ear. "I've missed the old Guy, my friend, my hardened, power-hungry, ambitious lieutenant. I feared you'd grown weak, grieving for that tart." Guy forced himself to remain neutral at the insult to Marian. "Who did you hang?" 

Guy forced himself to continue chewing before swallowing. "It was crime committed against Gisborne lands." Vaisey continued to wait, his hand circling for Guy to go on. "It was personal."

"OOH! A vendetta!" He squeezed Guy's shoulders one last time before standing up and returning to his seat. "Now, who do you hate enough to take revenge on?" He lifted his cup from the table and blew across the steam. "Certainly not Hood. I'd best witness that one or, at the very least, come home to see his head on a spike over the wall." He tutted a few times. "The only other person I know that you hate so much to see them dead would be the old bailiff who threw you and your pretty little sister out on your arses without so much as a la de dah de dah. Hmm?" Vaisey watched in mounting frustration as the Knight concentrated on his food and ignored his virulent musings. "I understand you sent the dungeon guards home for the night the night before you hung the man. Any particular reason why you gave them a night off?"

Guy never looked up. Obviously, sailing warm bread through a river of barely cooked yolk took a great deal of concentration. "I was punishing a few of my guards."

Ah! A response. "Are you sure it wasn't because you had a special prisoner? One you wanted to... teach a lesson? Hmm?" 

_Definitely beg Sir Rodrick to take Timmy back to the Marches with him._

Guy pushed his empty plate back, making Vaisey wonder if he wasn't eating at home. "I hung a man. Is that not lesson enough for everyone?" 

Vaisey leaned sideways and crossed his legs. Needing to satisfy his oral fixation, he reached across the table and grabbed a piece of fruit from a bowl. "Gisborne," he began quietly, "do you know why I chose you? Why I chose to pay for your training, to support you in your endeavors to become a knight? Do you, Gisborne?" He leaned forward, his hand, fisted and his voice dropping to a growl. "There was a... thugness about you, a streak of determination to succeed at all or any cost... or there used to be. All that broodiness and darkness in that tall, gorgeous, glorious exterior, just waiting to be groomed, to be shaped and molded. You were perfect, the perfect second for me, someone I could call mine. You were hungry, starving to take revenge on those who stole what was yours from you. You were angry, furious, all compartmentalized, waiting to explode. You desired power! You were PERFECT... until That Leper encroached on my territory, on your need for revenge! She corrupted you with compassion!" He sat back and inspected the piece of fruit before popping it in his mouth, his voice lowering. "She took my beloved protégé, my son, so to speak. I watched you soften; she made you impotent!" Suddenly, his tone changed, lightened. "And now she's gone and I have my son back! I have heard good things, very good things, on how you handled yourself with your former bailiff, on how smoothly things ran during my short absence." He slammed his hand on the table, shocking the staff, but not getting the jump he desired from the knight. "Do NOT make the same mistake over another pretty face!" He uncrossed his legs and propped his chin on the back of his interlaced fingers. "Speaking of attractive lepers, how is your pretty little lost lamb? Rumor has it you spent much time with her and delegated duties to your own guards for a time."

Guy was floored. Even with all of his spies, Vaisey had not... "Hood shot her." 

"What?" Vaisey sat up. "Hood what?" _Ah, he did not know!_ "How did this happen? How badly is she hurt? Did he... did he... kill her?" 

"No. She was lucky." Guy stared deeply into his mug as if to read tea leaves, had there been any and had he believed in such nonsense. "In recent weeks, he has taken a liking to shooting arrows into my home, if the windows are open, putting holes in the woodwork. This last time, however, he found an unlikely target." Vaisey was hanging on Guy's every word. "Luckily for Genevieve, his arrow had no barb and struck the frame of the window and a piece of furniture before it embedded itself in the upper part of her shoulder, in the muscle. She lost a lot of blood and was greatly weakened by it." Now he looked up at the sheriff. "I have put a personal price on the man's head. I will pay the reward and I will pay the taxes on it." 

"Added incentive. Smart move." Vaisey seemed to relax. "I take it then that is why you were scarce for some days here."

"I did take time to tend to Genevieve," he admitted. To lie about it was useless; might as well admit it and spin it to Guy's own use. "I also spent some days after that to scour the woods for Hood. I have added patrols, stepped up the guards' rotations." He lifted the cup to drain the last of the bitter brew. "I have spent valuable quiet time devising ways to flush the outlaw from the woods, as well as schedule added security to Nottingham during the faire. I did not shirk or over-delegate my duties as your Master at Arms or Lieutenant. I will find him out. If I have to burn down the forest." 

Vaisey nodded in agreement. "Will she be able to attend the faire? I would so hate it if she were that badly injured." 

"She will be here." 

"Good! Good! Would you like to hear something funny I heard?" 

_A joke. Joy._

Vaisey continued on, unaware of Guy's inner thoughts. "Rumor has it your little Lady Lost-Lamb fell from the sky with her luggage."

Guy tilted his head to the side and stared daggers at the man. "Really. What drunk have you been listening to?"

"I know! I laughed and laughed when I was told that before I left but the funny thing about it as we passed the area where you supposedly found her, the branches in the trees above were broken, as if something heavy fell through them." 

_Dear God in Heaven, he has been sitting on this piece for some time._

"My lord, I do not recall telling anyone exactly where I found Lady Genevieve." 

"That's right," Vaisey quickly agreed. " _You_ did not. Strange, however. Ah! Isabella!" Guy looked up to see his sister sit across from him. Setting a stack of parchment and scrolls to the side, she motioned for a servant to bring her a plate. "Please tell me you are earning your keep?" 

"My brother put me in charge of the indoor entertainment, as well as the menu and accommodations for our higher born guests." Guy's sister had her game face on and she smiled sweetly. "The gaming tables and their various different pieces and accessories have been brought up from the cellars and cleaned, repaired, revarnished and polished." Vaisey was nodding in agreement. "I have kept track of the invitations and the guests who have responded. The joust," with this, she nodded to her brother, "is generating quite a bit of interest. I fear the lists may be too full and the competition will have to be spread out over two days." She began to pick through the scrolls.

"We'll just start the festivities on Thursday or we will let it roll over to Sunday! I will give the church a large sum to ensure our forgiveness. Besides, I have great confidence in your brother to win the joust." Vaisey glared at Guy. "He better win the joust." He leaned forward and hissed so only the three at the table would hear. "I do not wish to be parted with the trophy, much like I was forced to part with the silver arrow." 

The Black Knight grimaced. "What is the trophy, my lord?" 

"A golden slipper. The metal worker here put a great deal of work into it." He now sat back, relaxed. "I had four guards over him the entire time."

" _Your_ guards, my lord?" Guy sneered. Vaisey's guards were a sorry lot. 

"No." Vaisey continued to peruse the lists. "Yours." 

Guy hummphed. He'd have to have a chat with his guards if Vaisey was pulling them away from their assigned duties and no one was informing him. 

"I have a list so far of the interested merchants and those nobles attending, as well as the number they are bringing with them." She handed this scroll to Vaisey. "Looks to be a family affair for many." 

"Or their mistresses!" Vaisey laughed, taking the scroll. He unrolled it and began peruse the lists. "Remind me to give you a listing of available rooms, so you can assign them. There are a few nicer ones that should go to certain people. Oh, wonder of wonderments! Mistress Merilla is coming!" 

"Who is that?" Isabella looked up from her list, obviously interested in someone Vaisey would make comment of. 

"A rare gift among women!" Vaisey was gushing. "Jewelry. She is an exquisite craftswoman. You will love her!" 

Before Isabella could open her mouth, Guy interrupted her. "She is expensive and you have quite blown through your allowance on new clothing, Isabella." 

"I would bet you wouldn't be so beggarly if you weren't also clothing your whore." 

"Lost-Lamb, Lady Isabella," the sheriff corrected. "Lost-Lamb." Vaisey was quite aware of the volatile dynamics between the siblings. He leaned towards the woman on his elbow, the scroll dangling precariously from his fingertips. "Become her friend. Perhaps she can charm your brother into untying his purse strings a bit more. I have never known Sir Guy to resist or turn down a pretty face. He has always given his women extravagant gifts."

Guy rolled his eyes.

"No one has seen her," Isabella sweetly retorted. 

"Ah, but there _are_ rumors." Vaisey returned his attention to the parchment in his fingers. "It seems all of our friends are coming." 

"I noticed that." 

With this, Vaisey started to chuckle. "Just think. We will pay them with money they lose at the gaming tables. Because," he smirked at Isabella, "the house always wins!"

"Therefore they will be paying out for their own reward." Even this caused Guy to smirk. _The less the peasants will be shaken down._ Suddenly, he remembered what he brought with him from home. He reached into his jerkin and pulled out a long chain. Cupping it, he slid it across the table to his sister. "This was in the box the tanner held for all this years. I thought you might like it."

As he lifted his hand, she gasped, which shocked the sheriff. "Mama's locket!" She snatched it from the table and opened it, eyes filling with tears. "It was there all this time."

"'Tis yours now. You said you wanted it." 

"Really? You really will let me have it?" Isabella was stunned, truly stunned that her brother would gift her with something so precious to her.

"I am no miser, Isabella."

For the first time in years, she softened. "No. No, you weren't and no, you aren't. You always did your best for me. I know that." Without another word, she scooted her chair back and holding the locket close, fled the room, leaving the scrolls on the table, along with her half-eaten plate. 

"What is it about you and women, Gisborne?" Vaisey was still holding the parchment. "You make them cry, they run away. One wonders how long before your little lost lamb makes her escape." Guy didn't answer him. Vaisey was goading him, like he always did. "Oh, look. Now this is interesting turn of events."

"What, my lord?" 

"Reginald, Earl of Eastbrook, and his wife, Lady Aedyth, are coming. They normally shun court or festive gatherings when they are together." Guy stiffened up, quickly masking his face. "Lord Reginald recently returned from the Holy Land, although I have not received word of him there with King Richard to fight." 

_He was not._

"Interesting." 

He looked up over the scroll to stare at Guy. "A little bird told me she was in London for quite sometime while he was away. Same time you were there. Perhaps you met?" 

Guy ignored the taunt, the question. 

It was quiet for some moments, while Vaisey continued to peruse the very thorough and clear lists that Isabella had drawn out and while Guy tried to think of a way to quietly back out of this whole mess.

"I fear there will not be enough rooms here at the castle to house our guests." Vaisey's mind was wandering. "What condition is Lady Marian's apartment in?" 

"I have already granted Lady Genevieve the rooms. I will give up mine and find elsewhere to bunk down."

Vaisey's grin was slow and predatory. "I bet you will." He sat up quickly and changed the subject. "You know, Gisborne, should you decide to try your hand or your lady's at the gaming tables," Vaisey seemingly returned his attention to the lists, silently commending the younger Gisborne in her attention to detail and wondering how on earth he could exploit her usefulness and mind, "I can ensure that neither of you are cheated."

This was a surprise. "I cannot speak for Lady Genevieve, for she will have an allowance to spend as she wills, however, I do not intend to do any gambling." Before Vaisey could speak up, he continued, "Between overseeing security for the castle and participating in the joust, you will recall I am now clothing two women. My father told me once a wife and daughters were an expensive commodity. He was correct." 

For the first time in the years that Guy had known Vaisey, the smile that graced the man's face was a sad one. "I had a sister. Once."

"I know, my lord. It was not my intent-"

Vaisey interrupted, his voice far, far away. "I loved her so very much." The man was now staring up high onto the walls and the hangings. "She was the only thing on this earth I have ever loved. I miss her, you know. I can still hear her voice. Do you hear voices, Gisborne? Voices of those you loved who are dead?" 

_All the time, you rat bastard._

"Kill him," Vaisey whispered. "You and I both have a legitimate hatred of Robin Hood." His eyes lowered, found Guy's and between the two, the fire was intense. "I will match your reward and call off the taxation of it. More so, I will make you my heir." This very promise raised the hair on Guy's neck. "Kill him."

With that, Vaisey stood up, gathered up all the parchments and left the room, to look for Isabella and his steward.

It was quiet for many minutes while the knight studied the dust motes in the air. 

"Sir Guy?" 

Joffrey's voice startled him and Guy jumped. "Wot?" 

"I've finished t'rotations an' had t'joustin' field strewn with hay. Would you be wantin' me to saddle yer horse fer practice?"

Guy stood up, restrained anger in his face, which caused Joffrey to recoil and wonder what it was he had done, or not done. "Get on the ball, Joffrey. Find who is spilling his guts to the Sheriff's men about Lady Genevieve. Concentrate on the guards who were with us when I found her! And find out who is giving the order to use my men for the Sheriff's business and why no one has told me!" With that, he stalked off, spitting over his shoulder. "I can saddle my own horse!" 

Guy stormed the halls, servants moving out of his way. Whatever kindness he'd shown during Vaisey's absence was now gone. Returned was the broody, angry knight. As he made his way downward towards the main level and the stables, he ran into a familiar face. 

"Felicity?" 

The girl had an armload of fresh, laundered linens. She dipped a curtsey. "Yes, m'lord?" 

"Lady Marian's rooms-"

She smiled. "Are being aired. I have kept them cleaned as you ordered and I am taking these linens there now. I thought you might want use of them during the faire, so I'm preparing them." 

Guy stared at her for a moment, causing the poor girl to think perhaps she was wrong. "You are right to do so." She sighed with relief when he confirmed her first train of thought. "I will be using them during the faire, so you will find something extra for your pocket in the next few days." She dipped again and turned to leave. "Felicity?" 

"Yes, Sir Guy?" 

He cleared his throat and looked around, checking to see that no one overheard. "How is your mother?" 

Felicity's smile grew larger. "Better sir. Much better. The healer has given us much hope. She will be out of work for a time, but your kindness...thank you, sir." And with that she disappeared around the corner.

_**~~~...~~~** _

Two days later, Guy came home, sweaty, smelly, gritty and exhausted, to find Genevieve in the barn, brushing down Zeus. She looked beat and downtrodden and that alone caused the knight much anxiousness. She continued her mindless task as he put up his own horse and curried him, filling his feed bucket and water trough. Handing the irritable beast a carrot, he peeked over the stall wall. "I am most aggrieved. This is wrong."

Genevieve looked up, her curry comb raised in mid-air. "Why? What's wrong?" 

Guy shrugged. "I would think you would be happy to see me." 

Genevieve smirked. Zeus's feed and water had been attended to, so scratching the sweet stallion on the nose, she handed him an apple before going into the gangway where Guy waited. She stepped into his waiting and very welcoming embrace. "I'm sorry if my mind is elsewhere. There is a bath waiting for you." She snuggled in, despite the smell of sweat and horse, and Guy reveled in it. 

"What is wrong?" 

She hesitated for just a moment. "I'll show you after your bath. Right now, I just want to enjoy this."

Now Guy was truly concerned. "Did something happen? Did someone approach you, did Hood-"

"No. No." She pulled in tighter. "Please just hold me close. I need this." 

Guy did so, wondering off-handed if this was part of the game they played, but on second thought, he decided that no, it was not. She needed consoling and he felt he knew her well enough that she would tell him when she was ready. After several minutes of close contact cuddling, they went into the manse, hand in hand.

_**~~~...~~~** _

"What in the name of all that is holy are they trying to do to you?" Guy threw the notepad down on the table in disgust, her iPad quickly, if more gently, following. "Who did you anger? I do not understand this." Truth be told, he did understand the basics of it, but not the finer details. It was one of the many tiny points he did not understand when he originally read through and transcribed the contract.

"Basically, they say they are closing the office in the Equitable Building where my company is located. That's fine, as they have offices in Roswell, up 400 and in Chattanooga, but-"

"You are speaking Greek, Genevieve." 

Guy's bath was complete and they had dinner. Both of them were in his... no, _their_ room, he designated it their room, so theirs it was. There was a bottle of wine and two goblets, the fire roaring.

Well at this time, Guy was roaring. "Please speak in a language I can understand!" 

Genevieve cringed. "I'm sorry, don't yell, I'm just as pissed off as you are!" She looked up to see him waiting expectantly. "They have two offices already. One about twenty miles away from my office and another about 150 miles away. With our mode of transportation, the closest one is about thirty minutes away and the other is about an hour and a half to two hours. Truth is, I'm quite certain that the majority of my employees live closer to Roswell office, so that's not a huge deal."

"But they want you to pay. Pay what?" 

"The rental contract." She picked up her notes and flipped through them again. "There are forty four months left on the rental agreement."

"Rental. You do not own the building?" 

"Well, no. I rent part of an entire floor from the management firm who owns the building and I pay a pretty steep price for it as well. Thing is, there is a fine for breaking the lease. I believe it's half of what is left, so twenty-two months rent." 

"That you would have to pay."

"Yes." 

Guy covered the lower part of his face in thought, shaking his head. "How much money are they talking?" 

Genevieve sighed. "A lot. Over a quarter of a million dollars. Probably somewhere between a quarter and a half a million." Guy flinched. He had no idea what a 'dollar' amounted to, but the number... 

"Are you going to have any money left when they finish?" 

"It doesn't look like it." She exhaled. "I've decided to tell them to take this contract, stick it where the sun doesn't shine, and just go on, business as usual." In a movement Guy was becoming familiar with, she ran her fingers through her hair, pulling it taut across her scalp. "I don't even want to finish translating this piece of sh--- crap." 

Guy poured wine into both chalices and handed her one. "As much as you would like to think it would be that easy, I do not think it will be."

"I agree." 

"Considering the language in the contract so far, I believe they think they have something on you or over you and will attempt to bully you into accepting this contract and their terms, despite the damage it will do to you." 

Genevieve nodded. "Professionally and personally."

"Be with me." Again, the plea, that plea, which was now coming on a daily basis. "Tell them to leave you here. We will plan our escape." Guy remembered planning escapes; he and Isabella became quite adroit in planning them when they realized their relatives in France were not so happy to see them, much less not welcoming of them into their home. 

"What about my employees, Guy?" Again, the same rejoinder. "I feel responsible." She stepped into his arms and tucked herself under his chin. "If I can figure a way, I would most definitely prefer to stay with you." 

It was quiet for some time, both trying to come up with a plan, a decision. Eventually, Guy turned her loose. "Undress for me, m'lady." He reached behind him to his belt and pulled out a wicked looking curved blade. "I think it is time to remove your stitches."

_**~~~...~~~** _

For the rest of the week and into the next, Guy worked his guards, his men and was merciless in the jousting arena. He was careful to use Vaisey's guards as sport, rather than his own, as he knew his men were better trained and would be more efficient at security. While promising them time with their families to enjoy the festivities, if they so desired, he let them know that they would be working and to expect it.

Vaisey watched him train at the arena, becoming more and more confident his knight would win. Even Isabella was impressed with her brother's prowess. 

Both Guy and Vaisey noticed she wore the locket Guy gave her. 

What they didn't realize was Guy looked forward to going home at the end of the day. While before, nothing awaited him save a bottle of wine, now... she awaited him; awaited him with a hot bath, a good meal, stimulating - in more ways than one - conversation, conversation that made him think, made him wonder-

\- made him hard as a rock.

_And the loving... Sweet God in Heaven... loving and warmth and laughter._

Gutter talk from her lips was an art form and he was learning it.

In a rare fit of humor, he removed her fuzzy manacles from their hiding place the morning before the faire and left them on the bed, with the key in the lock. "Surprise me." 

He left the room to the sound of her laughter.

_**~~~...~~~** _

Yet again, he stood in the doorway, _Her_ doorway, meditating on the past. This time, it was not so difficult to reach out, grasp the handle, and push his way in. He and Genevieve would be sharing this room for the next few nights; yes, they could travel to and from each day, but that would be taxing on her and he did not wish to push it. Besides, Felicity assured him more than once the room was freshly done for his guest and it was within his rights to inspect it.

And he had promised the servant girl an added bonus. 

He closed the door behind him before looking up. 

Felicity deserved, he decided, a huge bonus.

The linens, the bed curtains, the quilt had been changed. The furniture, with the exception of the bed, had been moved around so there was little to recognize as Marian's. The broken glass had been replaced, sunlight poured in. There were flowers, late fall flowers about and spices on the mantle. The firebox was full, the fireplace stacked for a fire to be built the next morning. In the side room, there was a metal tub, buckets of fresh water all ready in place. The trunk and closet had been emptied of clothing, Guy gifting them to the girl, her mother and sisters. All that remained in the trunk was the chest of jewelry. Setting it on the table - with two chairs, bless Felicity - he opened it. Inhaling deeply, he removed Marian's betrothal ring and the Celtic necklace. He knew she loaned it to the peasant who had given it to him, but Marian feared his temper still and had taken it back afterwards.   
_  
Perhaps you should give it back to its original owner. It was never yours to take!_

Guy looked up, not shocked that Marian's ghost stood across from him, in front of the fireplace.

"Yes, it was. She wanted my blessing. It was the agreed upon price." 

_You are going to take her to my bed, aren't you?_

"Yes."

_You would take a whore to my bed!_

"No." Guy had learned, discovered in the chapel, how long ago? that this ghost was a demon of his own making and he knew how to banish it. "No, I would not take a whore to your bed. I would take a _woman_ , an intelligent woman who knows what love is, who knows how to give and receive pleasure and has given me more happiness and delight than you ever could or would, to that bed which is now mine."

The ghost drew up, elongated, changed into a hateful mask of smoke. 

_Hood-_

"Ah, Hood. Trust me, _'Marian',_ I will be sending your precious Hood to you as soon as I either find him or he is stupid enough to present himself to me. I suspect the latter and the two of you can go to hell. Begone. Leave me and my lady be. You are nothing but a figment of an over-wrought and guilty mind and I refuse to give you anything to cling to!" 

With a screech that echoed in Guy's ears, the plume of smoke rose and went up the chimney. 

Guy smirked. "Yeah. That is what I thought."

_**~~~...~~~** _

_This,_ Genevieve thought to herself, _might not be a good idea._ It might not go as planned. And more than likely, considering how late it was, he might not be in a good mood and this could all backfire and blow up in her face.

It, in fact, could possibly be the absolute stupidest thing she had ever thought up!

Then again, on second thought, he was quite open to new things and he _had_ told her to surprise him.

Her little 'surprise' had been sitting in the bottom of her gym bag for some days - specifically when the dressmaker from Nottingham delivered the new things that Guy decided she needed. 

She had to plan to wait until the perfect evening. Considering her lack of patience, that had been difficult as well.

But tonight set up beautifully for it, if she pulled it off without blushing to the roots of her hair. Somehow, Genevieve knew she was going to be painfully self-conscious the moment he walked into the room. And who knew how Guy would react. She hoped...

She heard it said that there were some things a man could not resist. What a well-tailored suit did to a woman, lingerie did to a man. Some liked sweet and frilly. Others....

Somehow, Genevieve didn't think Guy would prefer sweet or frilly. Definitely not frilly. Or pink. Something...

_Naughty!_

And this was most definitely naughty. 

_Great. She was blushing already. She could feel it._

The evening started out perfectly for her plan. A guard arrived at dinner, informing Thornton that Sir Guy would be arriving home late and not to wait or hold dinner for him. Thornton informed Genevieve that Sir Guy was quite kind in letting the staff know when he would be late or staying in Nottingham, one of his rare courtesies, apparently. 

So, Genevieve enjoyed an informal dinner with the servants seated with her - much to Fiona's ire, but she joined them, so it wasn't as if she was going to tell. It was a noisy, raucous, enjoyable feast, unlike the subdued, formal affair Guy's presence enforced. After dinner, Genevieve went to her room and began to struggle into this undergarment that made the dressmaker color. Truth be told, she never thought she'd get it on, but she managed. Thank God it hooked in the front, rather than the back! Once she got it into place and the rest of it, her regular - for here - clothes went back on. As the weather was cooling, the loose tunic with the coat-like kirtle didn't show the bumps. 

Later that evening, when the household was quiet, leaving only Joffrey in the guard's quarters, Genevieve left the doors open and Guy's window as well, so she heard him ride up.

When she heard the hoof beats, her first thought was to abandon this silly, pathetic attempt at seduction. Truthfully, he didn't need to be seduced; he was sex walking and since resuming their sex-life in the previous weeks, she discovered it didn't take a lot of suggestion to turn him into a non-stop all-night sex machine. For some odd reason, he felt it was his personal duty to make up for all the orgasms she had missed over the years. Oftentimes, her safe word wasn't used as a safe word. It was used as the _'Leave me alone and let me sleep now!'_ word. 

Exhaustion simply wasn't in his vocabulary. The thought of him at eighteen at his so-called sexual peak terrified her.

However, she was in the damned thing, she spent his money having it made, so, as he and his horse headed to the barn, she quickly made her way across the hall into his room, pulling the door closed behind her and threw off her dress, grabbed the fuzzy handcuffs and her heels.

She had made sure earlier the fireplace was going and it didn't take long for her to get several lamps lit. Somehow, she managed to get everything arranged and situated as she heard the front door open. 

There was a conversation - Joffrey and Guy. 

_Oh God! He sounds crabby. What if Joffrey comes up with him? I'll die a thousand deaths!!!_

Luckily, there was only one set of boot falls heard coming up the steps. They passed his door, going to hers. There was a gentle knock. "Genevieve?"

"I'm in here. Your room." Funny. Her voice sounded much more... courageous than she thought it would. Or should.

Behind her, the door opened. There was an intake of breath and then the door shut, the bar dropping. Guy came around to face her at the foot of the bed. He looked her up and down fully, one hip cocked, his arms crossed, his gloves clutched in one hand. 

"Did Hood do this to you?" His voice was dark, suspicious.

"No." 

"Did you have help?" 

"No."

That slow, slow smirk spread on the man's face. He tucked his gloves into his belt. "Oh, you _are_ in serious trouble."

"Well, that's a given."

Genevieve had gone to the trouble of having a leather bustier made - a corset with metal rings down the side. Paired with her black garters, her stockings, the black thong underwear and her heels, on top of the fact she had used her fuzzy black handcuffs to cuff her hands up over her head above the large knot on the post, well she was on her tiptoes and stretched about as rigid as she could be. "Guy-"

"Tell me," one finger traced the edge of the corset, lingering at the swell of her breasts, "is this common fashion of the women of your time?"

"Uhm... no."

"Then you should explain," the finger resumed its tracing, "what it is for."

The blush Genevieve had hoped would not surface, did. 

Seeing her reluctance, Guy continued. "Perhaps, you have been a naughty girl?"

"Very." Guy nodded in agreement. "Uhm..." Genevieve stretched, her fingers searching for the post and her toes pushing up further on the tips of her feet. "I have a little problem here."

"Ah, so that is how they work." Ignoring her plea, he stepped up completely against her, closely inspecting the handcuffs. "Soft, fuzzy manacles. I thought so." His erection pressed into her stomach. He looked down at her, now grinning with malicious glee. It was a truly evil smile and it made Genevieve very nervous. Guy then leaned over, dragging the tip of his nose across her jaw line, nipping her earlobe when he reached it. "I see so many delightful possibilities with this particular... toy! However, I would like to know how are you supposed to get out of these? I see a keyhole, but no key." He resumed his teasing, now nipping at her neck. His hand, fingertips drew slowly up from her hip to the side of her corset, gently cupping her breast when he reached it. One long finger dipped into the gap between her flesh and the leather and brushed the side, teasing her nipple. He was now pressing fully against her, his arousal beyond obvious. 

"I... uhm... the key..."

"Yes, Genevieve. The key. Where is it?" 

Her senses were reeling. "On a... chain... around my neck." 

Rather than pull the chain out, Guy simply yanked on the bottom of the bustier, causing both nipples to spring loose from the confines, making the man grin all the more. Due to the cut of the corset, it shoved her breasts further up. With one finger, he lifted the necklace from her cleavage, pulling the key free. "Ah. Very good." With an almost demonic slowness, he bent down, drawing one nipple into his mouth, lavishing it with much attention, before moving to the other. 

This had the desired affect, causing Genevieve to squirm. "Guy? This is a bit uncomfortable. It's higher than I thought."

The Dark Knight lifted his head, concern written across his features. "Are you in pain?" He scowled. "Does your shoulder hurt? Did I harm you?"

"No. It's... this position is just uncomfortable."

Again, the grin graced his face. "Uncomfortable is a good thing." He stepped back and pulled one of his gloves from his belt. His eyes never left her face as he pulled it on. Once that task was completed, he stepped forward, the leather encased hand snaking around her hip and cupping her. He then buried his nose in the crook of her neck, kissing ...nibbling.

Genevieve realized she no longer had any control in this scene; that the moment Gisborne walked into the room and shut the door, he was completely in charge and she was simply a consenting rag doll hanging on his bedpost, a toy for his amusement and pleasure. Granted, she had set this up because the thought, the fantasy titillated her and she thought, after her conversations and experiences with Guy, that he would enjoy it as well. It gave him power, power he craved, and for her, the fantasy to put someone else in charge of her satisfaction, in addition to the fact that she was in a position only he could save her from.

Somewhere in the haze he was creating, Genevieve felt as the one hand which was not gloved brushed against her thigh. The touch was gentle, tender, much as it had been the first time they had made love. It was as if he was acknowledging without speaking that this was a new experience for them and he intended to move slowly. Truthfully, every time they came together with him stepping clearly and firmly in the Dominant and Master role, it was new territory and in the back of her mind, Genevieve was grateful she was exploring this road with Guy, rather than with Lamar. 

Somewhere, he managed to lift her from her feet, her legs now wrapped around his waist. His mouth found the juncture of her shoulder and neck and if the noises coming from the area were any indication, no doubt there would be marks and-

"Ouch."

He lifted his head. "Banana?" Worried blue eyes met brandy brown. 

"No."

For a moment, the two stared at each other, before he kissed her again, causing her to sigh, to shudder. Her toes were back on the floor, hands were now grasping the post, her hips moving, pleading, cajoling...

His mouth returned to her shoulder, adding to the sheen of perspiration that was now coating her body. The gloved hand pulled at the back of her thong, while the other brushed between her legs. Genevieve opened wider, propping the heel of her shoe on the low footboard, wanting it, wanting him...

The extremely narrow strip of material at her juncture was swept aside, exposing her to the rough leather ties of his clothing. One long finger slid in, joined by his middle finger when it thrust the second time. 

There was a keening, a low, feminine growl that Guy now recognized and privately thought of as Genevieve's mating call. It did things to him; called him, cajoled him. It was a siren's cry and one that he would walk off the edge of a cliff to find, to respond to. The hand supporting her drew her higher, both of them feasting on the other's naked, exposed flesh; his mouth in the crevice behind her ear and hers searching his Adam's apple. Several times, his two fingers slid in, looking for that knot of flesh inside that would stoke the very fires of hell within. When she began working, striving towards her release, he stepped back-

"Nooooooooooooo..."

-and wrestled with the ties on his trousers. Shoving them down just far enough past his hips, he pulled her up again, relishing the softness of her skin against his.

"Tell me what you want."

Genevieve was panting, clearly out of breath. "You. I want you." Her legs wrapped around his torso, her hips working to find that which she desired. 

"Not. Specific. Enough."

She growled in frustration and it was audible enough to make Guy chuckle in his throat. He was quite certain had she not cuffed herself to the bed, she would have flung him to the floor and ridden him into oblivion. 

"Tell me what you want." It was whispered in her ear. Upon asking the question, his mouth dipped, taking a delectable nipple in his lips and firmly teasing it. 

This very act rendered her speechless for some moments.

"Genevieeeeve... I asked you a simple question..."

Her response was whispered; under her breathe and barely heard. "Fucker!" 

He smacked her arse for that, hard enough to leave a handprint, but not bruise.

_Just enough heat..._

He released her breast and moved to her ear, making her squirm even more. "You might," he whispered raggedly, for while he would refuse to admit it, he was aching for the same thing she was, "be my whore in private, but you will always comport yourself as a lady, publicly _and_ privately, unless I give you permission, otherwise. Do I make myself clear?" 

"Yes sir." 

Both of his hands were around her derriere, lifting it, lifting her. With every ounce of control he had left hanging by a thread, he kept her off center, off-kilter, off everything. "Good girl. Now tell me. What. Do. You. Want?"

She inhaled. Guy thought for a moment she would falter, dance around the bush, even swear again-

"You. I want you. I want you in me-"

At the word 'in', he plunged, relishing the heat, the fire, the force of his onslaught pushing her higher, further up the bedpost. Her hands wrapped around the pole, her thighs tightening, pulling him closer. The heat in the room rose and the only sounds was the crackling in the fireplace, the creak of the bed and the pounding of two bodies. As always, he waited for her, waited for the sound of her orgasm to rip from her throat, 

_Oh God oh please oh please yes yes oh damn damnyesyesyesyes ohGodohGodohGoduhhuhuhhuhuhuhhuh_

before following her, his own release, that primeval explosion that unbeknownst to either one of them, could be heard in the hallway, down the stairs and into the main hall, where Joffrey, bless him, did everything he could to ignore the sound of his lord's escape from his demons. _At least,_ the knight - to - be thought to himself, _he isn't drinking himself into a stupor every night anymore. He's finding relief..._

For some time, their mutual breathing was erratic, more or less the two gasping for air. Eventually, they both loosened their hold, he on her and her from the post she was still shackled to. Genevieve would have collapsed had it not been for the fact that knob towards the top was hanging her up. She was vaguely aware that Guy removed the chain from her neck and released her from the post. He caught her as she crumpled and pushed her on the bed, shoes and all. Watching her breathing even out, he unbuckled his coat while toeing off his boots, his pants following the rest of his clothing - as well as her handcuffs - to the floor. He started to unlace the cuffs of his shirt, but seeing her sprawled so enticingly at the foot of the bed...

He twitched.

"Genevieve. Do not go to sleep."

Genevieve opened her eyes, only to see...

"NO! Banana!"

The Black Knight stepped between her legs and climbed on the bed, chasing her as she spider-crawled backwards up the mattress. "You do not mean that." Nevertheless, in keeping with the rules of the safe word, he kept his body separate from hers, as he leaned over and kissed her sweetly, long fingers from one hand, caressing the side of her face. Feeling her relax, secure in the knowledge he would respect her utterance of it, he moved to her right ear, teasing it. 

Hands snaked their way up his torso, beneath his shirt, to cling to the back of his sweat-dampened shoulders. "Let me catch my breath. Please." 

The responding chuckle in her ear made her shiver. "What do you think I was doing?" 

It was out of her mouth before she knew it. "Oh shit."

He was too busy laughing to realize she was swearing again.

_**~~~...~~~** _

Robin put the spy glass down, horror on his face.

He was no longer erratically harassing, terrorizing Gisborne at night, shooting arrows into the master bedroom window late in the evening, not necessarily trying to kill the man, although he wouldn't feel bad if he did maim or kill him, but more or less to keep him anxious, antsy, and off-guard. To let him know he was being watched and that he was targeted. For a time after Hood had started the practice, Guy slept with the shutters closed, leaving the room stifling hot, the choice being that or woken in the middle of the night to the sound of vibrating arrows slammed into the headboard just inches above his head.

Of course, that was before he accidentally shot Lady Genevieve. That had been unfortunate and unintentional and truly, he felt like a heel. Not to mention, his men didn't speak to him for days over it. Only Kate seemed... sympathetic to his plight.

But not enough of a heel to stop terrorizing Gisborne. So when Hood discovered that Gisborne's window was open this evening and that he had come in late, he rushed to the wooded hill directly in front of Locksley Hall. Using the spyglass gifted to him by Djaq and Will in the Holy Land, he looked to see if the man was in the room or better yet, in the bed. 

What he did not expect to see was Gisborne's 'guest' tied to the bed post and Gisborne's naked arse pounding her into wood. 

"Oh dear God."

"What?" Much looked back and forth between Robin and the manse. "What's wrong?" He reached for the seeing glass.

Allan took the glass from Robin to have a looksee for himself. He was hyper-ventilating when he handed the glass to Tuck. "Not tryin' t'be funny, Friar, but y'might no' want t'look."

Tuck looked anyway. He looked for a long, long time. 

"What?" Much was quite upset. "What's wrong?"

Once Hood caught his breath - Tuck was still looking - he started to march towards the manse that used to be his. His arm was grabbed by Allan. "Wot you doin'?" 

Hood looked at the man, the disgust on his face lit by the moon. "I'm going to rescue her! Gisborne is-"

Allan shook his head. "You didn' look ver' close. She's no' fightin' 'im."

"She can't fight him, Allan! He's got her tied up!" 

Much's eyes bugged. "He's got her what?" He looked at Tuck. "Let me see!" 

"She's not fighting him, Robin." Tuck was still looking and ignoring Much. "She's got her legs wrapped around him. He's not forcing her to do anything." He finally put the spyglass down. "If anything," he handed it to Robin, "she's enjoying it." He turned and walked back into the woods, hoping no one could see how funny he was walking.

"Enjoying it? Who would enjoy that?" Hood followed Tuck in disgust.

Allan waited a minute, trying to catch his breath and wishing Tuck had given him the spyglass, rather than Robin. "I would." He then disappeared into the woods, following Tuck's lantern, and leaving Much staring at the manse.

"But I wanted to see..."

_**~~~...~~~** _

In the after math, the glow of the fireplace being all that was lighting the room, Genevieve lay in Guy’s embrace, her hand on the rise and fall of his chest.

“The day after tomorrow, we go to Nottingham for the faire.” She heard him inhale deeply, a habit she recognized now as a calming ritual for the man. “Are you packed?”

“Eighteen trunks for four days of sex, drugs, and rock n roll! I’m set! Except the bong. I don't have a bong.” Genevieve tried to sound jovial, but it was forced and Guy snorted from her attempt. “I suppose I’ll be expected to sleep alone in my own bed and not in yours.”

“While it is not wise, it will most likely happen regardless.” He looked down at her, his face shadowed by the firelight. “The castle is expected to be filled to capacity. A personal friend of mine - Sir Rodrick of the Marches - arrived this afternoon and has already appropriated my rooms." 

"So we will be traveling back and forth each day?" 

"No." Guy was now curling a lock of her hair around his finger. "I have rooms for you - a small apartment kept ready." Immediately she knew they were _her_ rooms. "They are quite nice actually. Two adjoining rooms with a private bathing and chamber area and a fireplace. Several windows."

"You're going to leave me there by myself?" Genevieve was horrified. "You can forget that noise-"

"Noooo." Guy interrupted her. "I will supposedly take a bunk in the garrison, however I will be joining you in your rooms at night. I have employed a young maid for you while there - Felicity - who is very discrete, along with Eleanor."

"I get two maids? Wait!" She shook her head. "Guy! If we are openly sharing the same apartment, it doesn't matter if she's mute! Everyone will know we are... you know..."

Guy's eyes glittered in the low firelight. "We are what? Lovers? Trust me, Genevieve. There will be so much coming and going and swapping of rooms, few will notice and those few will not care. Do not worry about it." 

Now it was Genevieve’s turn to snort. “I’m not worried about me. You’re the randy ass around here.” 

That got her a firm smack on her ass. “Cheeky.”

“Yeah, I recall you love those cheeks!” 

It was quiet for sometime and Genevieve began to fall asleep.

“Genevieve?” It was a whisper.

“Hmmmm?”

Again, the man paused, moving slowly. “As my personal guest, we will be able, will be expected to spend some time together, however, I will not be able to accompany you the entire time. 

“Of course. You have a job and will have to dance attendance on Vaisey. Not to mention, there is the joust.” 

Guy nodded. “Castle security is my main concern. Go nowhere without Joffrey or Michael, or Eleanor, for that matter. They have been assigned to be your personal guards. There are thieves in the market, and Hood’s men will be there, I suspect. I will not have you accosted or harmed again. You know to stay away from Vaisey, the sheriff.” She nodded. “You will unfortunately, of course, have some exposure to him, but I should be with you during those times. As a whole, he hates women, so stay away from him as much as possible.”

Genevieve began to drum her fingers on Guy’s chest, much to his annoyance. “Hates women? Does he prefer men?” 

Guy grabbed her fingers in a gentle vice. “To him, women are for one purpose and one purpose only." There was a pause. "He also has a taste for boys.” She gasped. “Prefers them in their mid to late teens.” 

She blinked at that and rose up a little, in horror. “Guy?”

“I was too old when I met him.” He felt her relax against him. “That was a relief.”

“I’m sure.”

Guy continued. “He will pepper you with questions. Tell him as little as possible. You do not know who you are; you do not remember much of anything. Is that clear?” She nodded. “You should also stay away from my sister, Isabella.”

“Your sister? You're not getting along any better? She didn't like the locket?” Now Genevieve did rise up on her elbow, to peer closer at him. For his part, Guy was now staring into the canopy of the bed, his right hand cradling the back of his head. 

"She loved the locket. She loved our mother. I had hoped it would soften things between us, but I doubt it."

“Why?” Genevieve always wanted brothers and sisters. She was jealous of her friends’ large families, the noise, the arguing, the built in playmate. “She’s family.” 

Guy continued to stare into the curtains above the bed. “As you know when I was thirteen, our parents died in a fire and the local bailiff dispossessed me and my sister from our land and cast us out. We had nothing but the clothes on our backs and no money to go anywhere.” There was an angry silence. “To make matters worse, Hood’s father was also killed in the fire and the bailiff attempted to dispossess him as well, however the priest stood up for little Robin.” Now, his furious glare settled on Genevieve, causing her to shiver. “The priest informed the bailiff that as he was not a noble nor had a title, unlike Robin and unlike me, he could not possess any of the land and had no right. Robin then not only took over his own estates, but mine as well. We had not been gone a half an hour, yet no one attempted to divert us or bring us back. They left us to wander, knowing we had no food, no money… conveniently forgetting the bailiff had no right to take mine as well.” In the shadows of the night, Genevieve saw that mirthless smirk of Guy’s. “You see now why I coveted Hood’s land so much. Much was mine to begin with!”

If the people of Guy's demesne abandoned him and instead openly accepted Robin, leaving him and his sister destitute and homeless... 

He had been nursing this anger for at least twenty years. Not hatred. Genevieve never sensed hatred from Guy, only intense anger. She wondered how many people here realized that. 

“I do understand. You wanted back what was taken from you. I don’t blame you.” Suddenly, it dawned on her. "It all makes sense now. I don't blame you for wanting that horrible man dead!" 

"Aye." Guy’s attention returned to the canopy above. If anything, he pulled Genevieve closer. “Slowly, over several months, we worked our way to the coast, working for food, shelter. Isabella was only nine, but as we got closer and closer to the coast, it became more difficult to protect her. Between working, doing anything,” he stressed the word and Genevieve was terrified to ask what anything was, “for money for our passage to France, I had to keep her with me.” By now, he was whispering through a clenched jaw. “And when we reached my mother’s family in France, we discovered that while they would shelter us, we were not welcome, simply… tolerated. The old grand-père held a nasty grudge against my father that he took out on us.” He turned to face the wall. "Isabella never understood why, why he hated the sight of her. She resembled our mother tremendously."

Tears welled in Genevieve’s eyes. “I’m so sorry, Guy.”

By now, he was unaware of the woman he cradled to his side. “There was one loathsome cousin in particular, who goaded Isabella; aggravated me. Made fun of our clothes, the fact we had nothing. I caught him making faces, spitting at her one day. I beat the shite out of him.”

“Good for you.” 

Again, Guy grunted. “Right, good for me. He was my grandfather’s heir; his favorite and we lost our beds in the kitchen by the fire for it. We were put in the barn,” with this, his voice went lower, taking on a French gravelly tone, obviously mimicking the old man, "avec le reste des animaux." 

Genevieve shook her head. Guy had been teaching her some French. "With the rest of the animals.” At this, Genevieve pressed her forehead against his side. “What an atrocious human being.” Small wonder Guy despised his mother's family. She wondered off-handedly what would have happened to her had her grandmother refused to take her in after her mother abandoned her. 

Guy didn’t seem to hear her. “We were barely scraping by. One of the servants took pity on us and made sure we had food from the kitchen and not scraps. I was helping one of Grandfather’s neighbors trying to earn money. When she was thirteen, there was a faire in the town. By then, we were living in an abandoned one-room hovel." Genevieve felt him shrug. "At least, it had a fireplace, a stove of sorts, to cook by and keep us warm. I gave Isabella one sou to spend for herself.”

“What about yourself?” 

“I was… saving up for something.” Guy’s free hand found its way to Genevieve’s hair and he began to stroke it absent-mindedly. “She caught the eye of a son of a visiting squire from England. He offered to marry her immediately.”

Genevieve gasped. “Guy! She was a child-” 

“Her cycles had started. In this time, that makes a girl a woman and marriageable.” He heard the disgust in Genevieve’s voice and it vexed him. “In this time, it is a wonder that you have remained unmarried at your great age and are allowed to wander freely. You should be married with children about your skirts or in a nunnery!” He immediately regretted his short temper. He rolled over, to hold her closely, to keep her from bolting from his bed. “Genevieve. I am sorry.” 

She exhaled hard, both loving the embrace and finding his remorse revolting. “It is this time period. I try to understand.”

Seeing she wasn’t pulling away, he continued. “I did ask. I asked the mayor, the bailiff, who he was, if he was being honest about who he was. They said he spoke the truth.” He barreled on, as if frightened she would interrupt again. “He was wealthy, landed, not horribly older than her – ten years. He would feed her well, clothe her in fine garments and she would want for nothing. She would have a roof over her head and she would be Lady Thornton, not Isabella of the Barn! It was a relief to me, should have been to her. It should have been a dream come true. She was marrying well. Any woman would be proud to marry well. All she had to do was be a good wife.” 

“Guy… she was thirteen…” 

“It does not matter! She took her vows in a church, in front of God and the priest!” He snarled up. "She did not object."

"Would it have mattered? You yourself have said a woman didn't have to agree." A vile thought occurred to Genevieve. “Did you get anything out of the deal?”

He took a deep breath. “Genevieve. My father was a member of the English nobility – a knight with lands, a title, and my mother was French from an equally noble well-to-do family from Normandy I should have inherited all of that, except the title and I would have had the money to train to earn the title. Everything I had was taken from me and if I wished to have land, any sort of demesne, make a good marriage, I needed to earn it and the only way I could earn it was to become a knight, earn my title back and distinguish myself. That costs money.” 

Suddenly, it all became clear to Genevieve. _He sold her… oh my God, he sold his own sister to finance his training and education…_ "You sold her!" 

By now, Guy had rolled over and was staring hard at Genevieve, his eyes glittering like sapphires in the night. “No! He gave me proof! Proof he could take care of her! We lived in squalor, did not have a penny or a blade of grass to call our own. We would still be living in filth, with nothing, unable to move up. Isabella would be married to a peasant. Even a nunnery would not take her, with no money, had she been inclined to take vows, which believe me, she was not! Squire Thornton gave me a evidence, the money to pay for my training, so I could reclaim my title and in turn he gave Isabella shelter, food, and clothing. He proved to me he could take care of her, afford her. A caring father - or brother - wants the women of their family to marry up, not down, much less sideways! There is no shame in it.” He sneered. “Seeing how she outfits herself, he gave her jewels as well and not cheap ones.” 

He had offered Sir Edward similar payment when Marian agreed to marry him. Sir Edward refused. Instead, he showed it to Marian, verification he had wealth, confirmation he could care for her, protect her and her father from Vaisey and his other minions. And what had she done?

_She disguised herself as the Nightwatchman and tried to rob him._

Genevieve thought for a moment. Guy, on occasion, spoke of his sister, never her husband before this evening. “Is her husband here with her?”

“No,” Guy hissed. “She was not a good wife. She ran away and asked for my protection. She is miserable company and blames me for her unhappiness.”

Genevieve tucked her face into the crevice of the mattress and Guy’s chest, so he could not see her expression of sorrow. _The Two Gisbornes Terrible. What on earth had she gotten herself into?_

And in all of this… living hell… Guy had somehow become attached to the Sheriff of Nottingham… what on earth had he gotten himself into? She suddenly realized that this man was backed into a corner with no way out.

_And he knew it._

Suddenly, a long finger made its way under her chin and lifted it up, forcing her to look at the dark knight. “I ask a favor of you. I am not well liked in Nottingham-” Genevieve had to bite her tongue to keep from reminding him his own people here in Locksley didn’t like him or his heavy handedness either. “-and with my sister’s hate and Vaisey’s undermining and humiliating me at every turn …” his voice dropped, “you are going to hear things, be told things in the corners, the shadows, the stalls. Some will be lies.” He dropped his head, his lips pressed to her forehead. “Many however, will be truths. I am the right arm of a tyrant and the fist of a despot and pretender! No matter what, I cannot escape them. I have done horrible, evil things and I do not know how to atone for them. I have done things I am very ashamed of, things that haunt me and I have demons who taunt me with a well-deserved hell. Before you believe anything, please come to me and ask and I promise to tell you the truth. Please.” 

He continued to kiss her forehead, moving to her ear, her cheek before claiming her mouth and in the deep of the night, making love to her again.

As he spread her legs and slid into her, Genevieve was very aware that Sir Guy of Gisborne had given her a gently worded order and then promptly changed the subject.

_**~~~...~~~** _

_**You were sharp as a knife to get me** _

_**~~~...~~~** _

For the visual types - The Corset

[](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/ZeeDippyVessel/media/Fic%20Artwork/corset3_zpsee49e609.jpg.html)  



	24. 23... the

_**Manna from Heaven** _

_**Chapter 23** _

_**...the...** _

"GENEVIEVE! HOW LONG DOES IT TAKE TO GET READY?"

Sir Guy stood outside, his stallion saddled, his guards ready, and his personal carriage loaded with Genevieve's baggage, everything and everyone ready to go...

...except Genevieve. 

"GENEVIEVE!" 

"My lord, if I may," Thornton appeared at the knight's elbow, "it is quite normal, waiting on a woman. You might as well get used to it." He smiled in fond remembrance. "Impatience or yelling will not speed the process along. Believe me, the wait is well worth it. She'll just...ah! Here she is!" 

Guy's steward was most correct. 

"My lord? Do not forget to breathe." 

"Oh." 

She was wearing red. Red with an embroidered bliaut, and velvet matching hooded and wide-sleeved kirtle, lined in the same embroidered material of her dress. And she floated, her skirts billowing behind her. She wasn't watching where she was going, engrossed in putting on brown leather riding gloves. Genevieve stopped as she drew up next to Guy and looked up. 

Guy realized she had been pale in the past few weeks and now she had artificially applied color to her face, but not so much that she appeared painted. More or less, she was enhanced, a light, but natural dusting to her cheeks, eyes, and lips. His eyes raked her up and down.

"Nice." He motioned to the carriage, where Eleanor was already up sitting next to the driver. She was in a new dress as well - a soft, gray tunic, with a not so brightly red hooded kirtle. Guy wondered how much he paid for it and how the woman at his side had managed it. Genevieve turned and for the first time took one look at the conveyance. 

_Tires screeching, glass shattering, a sudden, jarring pain to her left arm..." and hip, head jerking back-_

_Genevieve, I’m sorry, but we’re not working out. I need someone more..._

_I need someone more..._

_The smell of burning rubber..._

"I can't get in that," she whispered.

Guy wasn't watching her. He was busy making sure the baggage, his chainmail and lances, were securely attached. "Certainly, you can." 

"No." Genevieve shook her head, emphatically. "No, I can't."

The knight tightened his jaw in vexation and stared at the sky. "Genevieve, it is for your safety and convenience."

Her voice mimicked his in tightness. "I am _not_ getting in it. I'll be bounced all over the place. Please saddle-"

. _.. I’m sorry, but we’re not working out..._

"-Zeus. Please."

The second 'please' had a desperate air about it and Guy looked down to discover the woman standing next to him had gone pale beneath her skillfully applied make-up. "My lady?" 

As Genevieve placed her left hand on his arm, the sleeve to her cloak fell back. Guy inhaled sharply as he watched her arm turn yellow, then purple before quickly turning black from the back of her hand, continuing up beneath the sleeve. Upon hearing his suddenly painful intake of breath, she looked down and gasped as well. Trying not to bring more attention to the two of them, Guy affectionately pulled her cloak sleeve down to cover her arm and covered her hand, hiding the quickly escalating bruise. "Considering your previous and recent injuries, it would be safer if you rode in the coach." He stepped closer to her and murmured, "I would feel more at ease if you rode in it."

"I cannot get inside that coach. I cannot." She dropped her head and whispered. "Please saddle Zeus. I would much rather take my chances out in the open, than be trapped inside." 

The noise around them was ignored, unheard by the two. "Something has frightened you. Something you remember."

"Yes." Genevieve whispered. "I was in an accident. A bad, bad accident." 

"In your carriage." 

"In my time's version of a carriage." 

_Bring the Jaws. Bring the Jaws... you’ve got a hot date tonight, I can see it. Stay with me… please…_

She was reliving something, something horrible and terrifying and Guy could not only see it in her face, but in the way she held her body, her panicked breathing. He tightened his grip. 

"Stay with me. _Be_ with me." 

_\- we’re losing her… damn, I need an IV, hand me the fib…stay with me stay with me..._

"Please hold on to me and send someone to saddle Zeus." Genevieve was staring, Guy realized she was focusing on a specific post, trying to block pain or memories or something. "Don't let me go."

Guy nodded to Joffrey. "Saddle Zeus. Re-hitch the team to a wagon and move mine and Lady Genevieve's things into it. We will not be taking the coach." 

Joffrey was looking anxiously at Genevieve. "My lady, are you-"

"She is fine! Just do it! Now!" He watched as the guard ran to the barn. Keeping her hand in one of his, he slid his arm around her, holding her close. "Stay wi-"

_-th me.. we’re losing her… damn, I need an IV, hand me the fib…stay with me stay with me you have a hot date honey I can see it...we're losing her...stay with me stay with me stay wi-_

"-th me, soyez avec moi, Genevieve. Tell them you want to stay." 

"Not! Going! Anywhere!" Genevieve was gritting between her teeth. "Just need to breathe." Seemingly the two watched as the carriage was unhitched, trunks and belongings transferred from one conveyance to the other, Eleanor helping the men, anxious to leave, restless to get going on this adventure. One would think she had never been to Nottingham, never been to a faire. 

Guy was counting the amount of luggage. "Did you bring the kitchen wash buckets as well, my lady?" 

"Noooo..." There was a sense of jocularity in that string of vowels. She was trying to maintain her sense of humor and Guy could sense it. "I believe most of it is your tack and mail for you and your horse." She looked up at him, relief and some color beginning to show in her face. "I only brought clothes, my toiletries, and my iPad, so I can read if I tire out."

After some minutes, the team was rehitched, the wagon readied, and Zeus was brought out, antsy and chomping at the bit for an expected run. 

"Perhaps you should ride in my lap," Guy whispered. "Zeus is anxious for exercise you cannot give him." 

"Yes, he is, but he's well trained and will know soon enough we can't." Genevieve pulled away from the knight, the empty space in his embrace screaming to pull her back. "If you will give me a hand up. All of these skirts are going to be a mite difficult."

It took a few tries for her to mount - her shoulder was not as cooperative as it usually was and she was still shaking at the knees caused by her flashback. Guy's cupped hand was sure and stable and she was glad he was a rock, a pillar she was coming to lean on more and more. As she settled into the saddle and arranged her skirts and cloak, Guy raised the long gown and inspected her left leg. 

Sure enough, the calf showing above her boots was purple, marbling with the bruise. Not wanting to seem too familiar - although the household and most likely the town knew of the closeness of their relationship and said nothing that had gotten back to them - he arranged her dress to ensure it didn't tangle in the girth or stirrup of the saddle. "Nice footwear. I see Isandra spared no expense," he quipped.

Genevieve waited until he was in his own saddle and motioned for her to come closer. "It's my understanding you told her to clothe me well."

"Did I?" Guy nodded his head and with a click of his tongue, the group set off to Nottingham.

_**~~~...~~~** _

Genevieve heard the noise before she saw the castle. As they exited the forest, the castle came into view and Guy allowed her to stop to simply look.

Nottingham Castle was laid out on a large plain. Normally, the needy poor lined the entrance way, begging for anything from travelers. Over the previous few days, the sheriff ordered they be moved out, evicted. In their place, bright tents were erected; knights and guards, retainers of many of the households that were visiting and not housed in the castle, set up camp outside the walls. Cook fires were already being assembled, the smell of roast and pork rising on the air. Young pages and and squires were practicing their skills with wooden swords. Guy noticed Genevieve taking all of it in, a smile of wonderment on her face.

As they neared the castle, Guy drew closer. "Remember what I told you about talking to anyone, especially my sister or the sheriff?"

"Yes, I don't remember much of anything, except my name and I had nothing but the clothes I was wearing." Genevieve pulled up her hood as they walked onto the wooden gangway. "Oh, and that you are an exemplary host, who is kind, benevolent, and generous." 

"I do not recall telling you to say that, but I thank you anyway." Guy's mouth smirked. "Vaisey will think I am paying you."

Genevieve very pointedly looked down at her elaborate dress and cloak. "Some will say you are." 

"Keep whatever conversation simple. Clothing. Shopping. Womanly pursuits" Guy worked hard to stifle his laughter, clearly seeing the faces she was making. "Speaking of clothing, the next time you order clothing for my servants, I would appreciate if you would at least put them in my colors." 

"I did already," Genevieve snorted, "and she will be wearing them over the weekend!" Shyly, she looked up at him through her eyelashes. "I hope you don't mind." 

Guy's customary smirk was in place. "You will pay well for it." 

"I figured so." 

They made it over the gangplank and into the bailey, where the noise level and activity grew tenfold. Vendors were arranging their wares, materials, baked goods; many things were all ready set up or in the process of being set up. Guy dismounted just inside the castle gate, handing his mount's reins to Joffrey. Going to the right side of Zeus, he helped Genevieve from her horse and handing those reins over as well, aware the noise and activity in the yard had diminished to a whisper.

_'It's her...Sir Guy's captive. God bless the poor thing...'_

If Genevieve heard, she made no mention, no acknowledgement of it. Instead, she tucked her hood back onto her shoulders and looked around with such child-like glee, and it was not lost on Guy that she made eye contact with each and everyone. Apparently she saw something that interested her, as she leaned in that direction, before realizing Guy still had her by the hand. 

"I want to see." She pointed towards a stall that was still being arranged with pottery.

"Later, my lady." Bewilderment now graced the face of this woman who was laying waste to his demons. "They are still setting up and I wish to get you settled in your rooms and go over some last minute-"

"If you say 'rules' I'm going to kick you with these fancy soft boots of mine, Bucko!" 

"-motions and guidelines," Guy feinted easily. As he pulled her to him, he leaned down to whisper, "Your first test is coming up within the next few minutes, and I would have you around and away from Vaisey and Isabella as quickly as possible. I wish to show you around so you will not wander places that could be upsetting." 

"You want me to stay out and away from the dungeon."

"Precisely." Tucking her hand into his elbow, the two strolled through the marketplace, the wagon with their personal items having gone around to the servants entrance. Guy had no doubt by the time they arrived to Marian's old chambers, everything would be unloaded and unpacked. They leisurely walked through a second gate in front of the castle proper. 

The first thing Genevieve noticed was the gallows. Without looking, Guy knew she saw them because she stiffened up and clutched his arm. "Breathe, my lady." 

"I'm trying." 

The second thing she saw was-

"That's him? At the top of the stairs?" 

"Yes." 

Genevieve turned towards Guy and grinned mischievously. "He's a shrimp, isn't he?" 

"I do not understand," but Guy smiled anyway. 

"Shrimp, small-fry, short stuff."

Guy's smile grew wider. "Do not allow his lack of stature lure you into thinking he is weak. He is a more than an able tactician, very skilled in weapons, and has verbal skills that would make one weep."

Genevieve's grin was positively wicked. "He has not met me." Carefully, she rearranged the collar of her cloak, assuring that the hood was down and laying straight.

Guy's grip on her arm tightened painfully and he forced his words through an even more forced grin. "I do not wish for you to parry with him. At all. Is that clear, my lady?" Not giving her a chance to retort, the pair ascended the stairs leading to the front doors. "My lord, I trust you are well?" 

Vaisey's smile was wide and oily, his eyes resting on the woman next to his Master of Arms. "Splendid! Splendid! Many have arrived, some are waiting for you and several are waiting to meet your... guest." Without warning, he took Genevieve's free hand and lifted it to his lips. "You must be Sir Guy's Little Lost Lamb, Lady Genevieve." Despite her smile, Genevieve was grateful her gloves were still on. "I can see why he keeps you hidden. Someone might try to steal you away." 

"They would return me rather quickly, I am sure," Genevieve murmured, much to Guy's barely audible snorting. 

"A sharp tongue, eh?" Vaisey's grin grew wider. "There are ways to cure a woman of that." 

"She causes me little problems, my lord." Guy pulled her closer. Where she was standing, Vaisey had a lovely view straight down her tunic and it upset him. "Save she is as expensive to dress as my sister.' 

For some reason, this caused Vaisey to laugh. "But it is a joy to see them decked out in their finery. Who knows? Perhaps, if she is that much trouble, you'll find someone here willing to take her off your hands, if you wish her to be gone. Tell me, Lady Genevieve," again, the man's attention was on the woman in front of him, "will you be attending all of the festivities? Sir Guy told me about your misfortunate run in with the outlaw, Robin Hood. Sir Guy has placed a sizeable financial reward for his capture. I have doubled it. I will not allow common outlaws to accost the citizens or guests of Nottingham." 

Genevieve straightened up, assuming her full height, which Guy internally found amusing and unimpressive. "As I told the healer who stitched up my shoulder, the man should pray Sir Guy finds him before I do. Sir Guy will simply kill him. I would torture him." 

The appreciation on the sheriff's face was obvious. "Oh really? Tell me, my dear lady, how would one so fair as you torture him?" 

Genevieve crooked her fingers, making him lean closer to her. "Simple. I will sing to him." She leaned back, allowing the man to digest that tidbit. 

Guy's hand on her arm was getting tighter, silently informing her that the conversation had gone on long enough and the chatter was not amusing him, despite his side-grin. If he squeezed any tighter, she would bruise worse than she was when they left. "Sir Guy," she hummed, "I would like to be taken to my chambers. The ride here tired me a bit more than expected, and I would like to lie down and get my maid settled." She nodded to Vaisey. "I am looking forward to the joust. Guy," Vaisey's eyebrows rose at the informal use of his knight's name, "tells me there will be an archery contest and gaming inside. I would like to take in as much as possible." With a nod to both sheriff and black knight, she followed demurely on the arm of the man who brought her. 

 

Vaisey watched as the two ambled slowly into the castle, Guy leaning over to whisper in the woman's ear. _Pretty,_ he thought to himself, _but still a leper._ God knows Gisborne's previous leper was a pain in not only Giz's fine leather-clad arse, but Vaisey's as well. He wondered off-hand if Winchester Junior would like a leper. Guy was as equally enamored of this one as he had been the previous one; more so, if his eyes served him right. Vaisey's eyes were seldom wrong. Guy was keeping this one close, very close. He'd even bet he had assigned a guard to shadow her when he couldn't. This could be very interesti-

"Has he arrived? With her?" 

Vaisey was jerked from his musings by the abrasive hissing in his ear. He turned to Gisborne's sister. "Yes. You missed her, but I am sure you will rectify that before the day is over." 

The woman's face was twisted in ire. "She's ugly, isn't she?" 

Vaisey shook his head. "No. Not in the least. Your brother," he flicked a nonexistent speck of link from her dark, velveted shoulder, "always had exquisite taste in women. This one is no different." He smiled at Isabella. "She was wearing red." 

"Red?" Vaisey nodded. Isabella snickered. "A tarty color for a tart!" 

"Lost lamb, Lady Isabella," Vaisey snidely reminded her. "Lost lamb. As for her choice of color, I disagree. It is a proud color for a proud woman and that woman," he looked out into the bailey and smiled at the newest arrival, "has pride written all over her face. You should be nice to her. Honey. Honey. " He started down the steps. "I would suspect being holed up with your brother for how many weeks, she would like a confidant and some girl-talk. Now smile." He spread his arms at the couple exiting their carriage. "Ah. Lord Reginald and Lady Aedyth. What a pleasure to meet you at last."

_**~~~...~~~** _

"Isn't the room grand, Lady Genevieve?" Eleanor was bustling in and out, carrying clothes, bags; Joffrey very quietly brought in Sir Guy's clothing as well, all of it going into an alcove on the other side of the fireplace.

"The room is beautiful, Guy." Genevieve stood in the middle, looking around. It was bright, well-lit and one could not help but notice the very large, canopied bed against the right wall. "Is there a room for Eleanor?" 

Again, Guy perused the room, thankful for Felicity making it over. He half expected Marian's 'ghost' to assault either him or Genevieve when they entered, but so far, the wrath was quiet. "She has a cot in the nook."

Genevieve blinked. "She has a what in the where?" 

"Over here, my lady!" The teenager peeked from the alcove. "There is a very nice cot in here for me." She returned to her task of hanging up Genevieve and Guy's clothing.

"Guy?" Genevieve whispered. "Where are you staying?" 

Guy turned her loose and strolled into the little bay area. It was brightest here and Felicity had brought a wide chair, padded and big enough for him and Genevieve. _Oh, he had plans for this chair..._

"Guy?" 

"Rumor has it I am in the garrison, however, in truth, I will be staying in here with you." 

Almost immediately, Genevieve was beside him. "I see me having privacy issues right now."

"Privacy issues? Us?" Guy leaned down to whisper. "After everything you and I have done together in _our_ room, back at the manor?" Genevieve's eyes were bugging. She jerked her head towards the little nook, where the sounds of Eleanor putting clothing away and humming were clearly heard. It took a moment for it to sink in. "You fear we will keep her awake with our amorous pursuits. That," he nodded to the bed, "is what the curtains are for."

"She'll still hear us." 

"I hear you now." 

"Eleanor," Guy crossed his arms and looked up at the ceiling, "if you wish to stay and not be sent home, you will not hear us unless we are speaking to you." 

"Yes, Sir Guy." 

"Guuuuy!" Genevieve was growling.

Guy scratched his ear, before taking her gently by the arms. "In most cases, servants sleep at the foot of the bed or in some part of the room. It is why the bed has curtains." He noticed Genevieve's foot bouncing angrily. "I daresay come Saturday evening, I will be too banged up and beaten from the joust to partake in any carnal play. Or," with this he smiled, "I can order you to make no sound. That would be most satisfactory." He leaned down to kiss her, only to be interrupted by a banging on the door. "Who is there?" 

"Th' mon who is goin' t' unhorse your pasty, white English arse come Saturday!" The voice was guttural with more than a trace of a Scottish accent. Eleanor stood in the alcove's doorway, waiting expectantly. She ran to the door to open it once Guy nodded to her. For the first time since Genevieve knew him, Guy actually seemed happy to see someone. 

"Rodrick!" They clasped arms like the friends they were. "How was your trip?" 

Genevieve was glad the man hadn't noticed her yet, because quite frankly, she was staring rudely, as was Eleanor. 

Sir Rodrick was, Genevieve would discover over the next few days, a red-headed bear of a man, but truly had the gentlest heart, when it came to - what he called - the fairer sex. He towered over Guy, not an easy feat. She suspected the man had to be at least six foot seven, if he was an inch and he outweighed Guy by at least seventy-five pounds. He was broad, wide, all-muscle. 

He was also loud and boisterous and by the crinkles in his eyes, he smiled a lot. She startled when she was shaken from her inspection, to find the man standing over her, staring down, and grabbed her hand. "What've we here, Gisborne?" He lifted her hand and placed a gentle kiss on the back. "Ye've bin hidin' her?" 

"Yes," Guy took her hand from Rodrick's and tucked it into his own elbow. "Yes, I have. Genevieve, this is Sir Rodrick, a good friend." He leaned forward and looked up at the knight. "No. I do not and will not share, nor," he nodded to where Eleanor was hovering again by the alcove doorway, staring in awe, "will I look the other way if you swive my lady's attendant." 

"Damn Gisborne," Sir Rodrick pouted, "ye jist took the fun outta this faire! The only thin' aye kin look forward tew is stompin' yew inta the grund!" 

"Well, do not stomp too far. I am probably going to need your help before the faire is over. Eleanor!" The girl scurried quickly from the alcove. She was losing her fear of her lord more each day. "First, cower a bit more when we have company. The last thing we want is for the Sheriff to notice. For now, go into the kitchen and retrieve a large carafe of wine and three goblets for my guests and myself. Felicity," he turned to the castle servant, "make sure that Sir Rodrick and Lady Genevieve are seated with me for dinner." He waited for the two servants to scurry out before making sure the door was shut firmly. 

"So, 'ave ye the proper licenses fer the tournament t' be 'eld here?" Sir Rodrick pulled off his gloves and slung them on the table, much like a gauntlet. "Nottingham is no' onna list for such as this." 

"I am not telling. Are you?" 

The knight shook his head in laughter. "Nah! What wuld be t' fun o' doin' it by t' book?" His laughter trickled off. "So what be th' license fee aye paid for me an' me men?" 

Guy blinked once. "Why, the license fee, of course."

Sir Rodrick smiled and shrugged. "O' course! Linin' yer sheriff's pockets. Aye suppose t' prince will look th'other way if a goodly portion makes it t' his coffers." He waited for Guy to acknowledge his assumption. Once receiving it, he continued. "Aye take it, the help yer wantin' from me has to dew with the troublesome lad who needs a guidin' hand?" 

Guy saw Genevieve looking back and forth between the two men. Best she hear it straight out. "Timmy."

"Timmy?" Genevieve hissed. "Timmy? I thought that was taken care of!" 

"Do she always speak outta turn?" 

"Constantly and it amuses me. Timmy needs to be taken into hand or he will most definitely cross the wrong side of the path with Vaisey. He might be quiet now, but he will be in trouble again sooner or later. Most likely sooner." 

"So tell me 'bout the lad." 

Quickly, Guy told Rodrick Timmy's background, his curiosity that could get him killed as well as his massive amounts of energy. Somewhere during the telling, Eleanor returned with wine, which Guy poured and distributed to his guest and lady before sending Eleanor out to make sure everything had been brought in from the wagon. He then helped Genevieve from her hooded bliaut, leaving her in the embroidered kirtle. 

"Mother's a widow?" 

Guy shrugged, laying the bliaut over the loveseat. Genevieve was starting to droop. "Might as well be." 

The huge knight rubbed his jaw. "She'll grieve th' loss o' her wee one." 

"She will grieve harder if he is killed by the sheriff." 

"Guy," Genevieve interjected softly, "she's already lost a husband. Timmy is all she has left."

"You are tired." Genevieve nodded in agreement. "Up in the bed with you." As she sat back on the mattress, he made quick work of her laced boots, sliding them off.

"I should change," she mumbled. "But not while we have guests. Don't know why I'm so tired."

"You should have ridden in the coach," Guy admonished without bite. When he returned to the alcove, he took one of the chairs with him, motioning Rodrick to stay quiet until Genevieve's breathing evened out. "She was injured last week and healing has taken a lot out of her." Guy was aware that the older knight was watching him very closely.

"Injured how?" 

Guy took a sip of his wine, his eyes never leaving Genevieve. "An outlaw shot her." 

"Hood?" 

Guy nodded. "He is a dead man when I catch him. This is her first outing since then."

The two drank in silence, listening to the bustle of the goings and comings through the windows. It was some minutes before Rodrick quietly continued the conversation. "Yer lady's right. Sounds like yer boy an' his mother need t' be taken in hand. Do she cook?" 

"I suppose so." 

"Y'know," the man started softly, his accent becoming a rather pronounced burr as the wine loosened his tongue, "aye've come wit' t'expectation o'leavin' wit' a new squire t'train." He inspected the bottom of his empty goblet. "Aye weren't plannin' on bringin' 'is mother."

"Not asking you to." Guy picked up the bottle and motioned towards the chalice so lightly held in the other knight's hand. He filled it, before emptying the rest in his own. "She and I have discussed this. Her son will receive an education, as well as learn an honest trade. It will keep him busy and out of Vaisey's bald pate. She'll accept that."

"Tha' sheriff yew work for is a slimy bastard." 

Guy shrugged. 

Rodrick finished his wine before standing up. "England is goin' t' hell, my friend; goin' to hell inna carriage drawn by ten foine 'orses. When yer tired o' Vaisey an' John an' Richard's shenanigans, don come my way, aye kinna save ye." 

"What makes you think I want to be saved?" The fact the man could read this much of him, bothered Guy to no end.

Rodrick nodded to the bed. "Her. Do she know 'bout yer past? Who ye are?" 

"Most of it, but I suspect she will know more before this faire is over. I will not lie to her." Guy snorted. "If I were to run, where do you suggest?" 

"If it were me? Aye'd go to me grandmother's family, way up t' the north, where they be heathens inna mist. Y'ave family in France?" 

"My mother's family is too close to Poitou, and there is no love lost between me and the current baron." He drained his goblet. "Why are we talking about leaving?"

"If the king returns, some o' us will na be welcome." He looked at Guy knowingly. "Some 'o us less 'n others." He leaned forward, bracing huge fists on the table, his voice a grating scratch over a harsh surface. "Aye like ye much, Guy o' Gisborne. Ye walk in shoes most no' dare t'tread. Ye be a brave mon. She," he nodded over his shoulder to the woman asleep in the bed, "be a bonny lass an' aye think she be grievin' should yer head go onna spike if Richard comes back. Tryin' to kill 'im twice an' not succeedin'... an' killin' a lady inna process..." his voice dropped off. "Aye hope y'ave a backup plan." He set the wineglass down. "Aye'll take ye boy an' his mother when aye leave. Any one else y'be ownin' favors to or wantin' outto 'ere when th' rains come?" 

Guy was staring at the window, watching the dust motes dance in sunshine. "You think you know a lot about me, to be so far away." 

"Ol' Henry wanted John t' be king. Richard sees us as income, no' as 'is people. He culd care less 'bout bein' our monarch. M' lord sides wit' Prince John, but he would see power among t'nobles, no' so much th' king." Guy was nodding in agreement. "Yer lord sees John as a puppet; if 'e succeeds puttin' John onna throne, you'll be powerful indeed, as yew know he is no'. If no..." his voice trailed off even further, "yer a dead mon. Aye 'ope y' have a place t'run to; Aye hope ye 'ave a plan, jist in case. So, anyone else you be likin' t' keep outta harm's way, when t' shitte hits the muck bucket?" He looked pointedly at Genevieve, asleep on the bed. 

Guy was quiet for a moment before answering. "One. One more. He's my personal guard. Joffrey. If she is still with me, she will come with me."

_**~~~...~~~** _

Genevieve woke up with a splitting headache that sounded like someone pounding on her door.

_Wait. Someone is pounding on the door._

Eleanor was back, sitting in the sunny room, working a piece of embroidery. After calling out, she helped Genevieve from the bed, ran fingers through her hair. 

"There is a looking glass in the nook," the girl whispered. The nook was another room in itself, a chamber pot, tub, Genevieve's and Guy's things hung neatly, a cupboard, and as Eleanor stated, a cot which rested against wall where the fireplace in the larger room rested. As appalled as she was about the girl being in the same room with the toilet, Eleanor insisted the fireplace kept that corner of the room warm. 

The knocking began again. 

"Good Lord Almighty!" Genevieve made quick work unsmudging her makeup. "What or who is so important?" Genevieve threw open the door. 

She knew immediately who it was. 

The resemblance to her brother was remarkable. Stern, almost carved in stone, those eyes and that chin... before her face lit up in the fakest smile Genevieve had seen since the last kiddie beauty pageant her grandmother put her in. 

Isabella swept in, her eyes roaming the rooms, before turning to her brother's mistress and appraising her openly and boldly. Genevieve set back on one hip. "Would you care to check my teeth as well?" 

It took a minute for Isabella to process the remark, before laughing openly. "Oh, I see why my brother keeps you around." 

"Really?" 

If anything, Isabella's smile became more insincere. "Wit. You have wit." She opened her mouth to continue, but stopped shy of emitting breath. "I have wanted to come to Locksley, but my brother forbade it. We feared he was keeping you prisoner." 

Genevieve stood rooted to the floor, her hands in white-knuckled fists behind her back. "No. I must admit I have appreciated the solitude." She felt the heat rising in her chest. "Your brother has been most kind." 

There was another knock at the door, Genevieve swearing to herself, this place had become Grand Central Station. She nodded to Eleanor, who opened the door to allow Joffrey and Felicity into the room.

"Sir Guy said when yer up, to bring some refreshment." The guard gestured to the little castle maid, who was carrying a tray with some cheese, a wine carafe and two goblets. She set them on the table and proceeded to pour. 

"Dinner is in two hours, Lady Genevieve," Felicity murmured demurely. "But I brought something in case you were hungry." 

"I slept through lunch?" 

"You should have taken the carriaaaage." Eleanor's voice was whispered, sing-song. 

Isabella was looking back and forth between the upstart young maid and her brother's paramour. "How did you get here?" 

"I rode a horse. The carriage was... unsuitable." 

Isabella licked her lips, a habit Genevieve had seen Guy do on many occasions. "Forgive me, but it is my understanding that you had been shot by an unknown person-"

"I was shot by Robin Hood," Genevieve interrupted neatly. She handed a goblet of wine to her guest before taking a sip of her own. "I was shot, at night, in the dark, in the back, with an arrow shot from the hillside outside the manse. It was a cowardly, wretched thing to do, one that caused Guy to fetch a healer before the sun was up and caused me a great deal of pain."

"How can you be so sure it was Robin Hood?" 

Genevieve sighed. She so wished this woman would leave. She wished Guy were here. Best treat her like a potential client. "I had the... pleasure... of meeting him in the woods some days before. He tried to rob me. Besides," she continued with a curled lip, "who else hates your brother enough to shoot arrows at your brother's home?" 

Before the woman could retort, Genevieve put on her best company smile filled with as much southern charm as she could force through her teeth and changed the subject. "Is your goblet empty? Here." She motioned to Eleanor to fill it up. "Come sit with me and tell me about everything planned for the faire! I have no one to talk to during the day, and when Guy comes home it's all Hood and thieves and land and taxes!" She motioned to have her goblet filled as well. "I'm excited about the joust? Are you?" Before she knew it, Isabella found herself sitting in the sunlight, nattering about the gaming tables, the joust, the archery contest...

"My lady?" Eleanor stood at the corner after some time of Isabella's conversation. "Do you wish to change for dinner?" 

Genevieve looked down at the dress she arrived in - and slept in. "Will there be many here?" 

Isabella nodded. "Everyone has arrived. I have been busy greeting, but I missed meeting my brother's... friend." She smiled. "I have wanted to meet you since I learned of your arrival, however my brother was determined to keep you hidden."

Genevieve lowered her head so Isabella would not see her smile. "I sustained a rather nasty head injury. Your brother wanted to keep things quiet around me." 

"I can be very quiet," Isabella hissed. 

"My lady?" Eleanor squeaked. "Dinner? Surely, you wish to change?"

"Yes," Genevieve looked up to stare into icy Gisborne eyes. "Yes, I do. Perhaps, the-" The door to the chambers suddenly opened, causing a draft and slammed shut, Guy standing now in front of the door.

"Isabella. I-" 

"-has kept me company telling me about the goings on of the faire! An archery contest tomorrow! And games." Inside, Genevieve relaxed. In exhaling, the man came around behind her, and smoothed her hair, fingers trailing behind her ears. "I thought to change for dinner. This," she gestured at the red dress, "needs to be aired." 

Guy wandered to the table, picking up the carafe of wine and drinking the last of it from the bottle. "Go ahead. I need to change as well." 

"Your things are here?" Isabella scoffed, watching as her brother's mistress circled to the hidden alcove on the other side of the apartment. "I did not realize that-"

"My chambers here have been given over to Sir Rodrick, his first in command, and his master at arms. I have a bunk at the garrison, however, my things are here. It is easier." 

For a moment, the siblings listened to murmuring in the nook between servant and woman, before Isabella sidled up to him. "I thought you had preferences for women more intelligent than yourself, brother. All she wanted to talk about was shopping and clothes!" 

Guy smirked. _She was pandering to you!_ "Be kind, Isabella. She has had no one to engage in girl talk with. I fear I bore her with politics and war." 

"I have to wonder," Isabella tapped her lip thoughtfully and whispering still, "Would she stay if she knew what all you have been up to?" She leaned closer. "Your ambitions, your-" 

"Ambitions? All men have ambitions, Isabella." The two turned to the woman standing in the middle of the room. "Some women have them as well." 

Genevieve had changed into a lightweight, but layered emerald green gown, that clung to her body, the sleeves bell-like and diaphanous. A crystal jewel pin was attached at the low-cut bodice. "Well?" 

Guy eyed her up and down, inspecting her. "Nice." 

The seemingly lack of appreciation deflated Genevieve for a moment, before realizing Isabella was turning red and Guy was rummaging in the chest at the foot of the bed. Several cases had gone into the trunk upon their arrival and it was padlocked, with Guy keeping the key. Genevieve recognized some of the things - including the apothecary case, along with other things, that were placed inside the trunk and she recognized the case he now removed from the chest. "Turn around." 

Isabella gasped in anger as Guy placed the jet jewelry around Genevieve's throat. "That's Mère's jewelry!"

"It now belongs to me," Guy responded softly, his voice having a low, dangerous edge.

Guy's sister stepped forward, her fingers in claws. Genevieve feared she would yank the necklace from her throat, so she stepped backwards, finding a brick wall behind her. Realizing the woman was in Guy's safe embrace, Isabella pointed. "That should be worn by Lady Gisborne, not some poorly educated, backwater harlot!" 

Genevieve bowed up at the insult. "Now, just a minute-"

"Isabella." Guy crossed his arms over Genevieve, pulling her further into his chest. "The jewelry is mine to loan or give. I have loaned it to Lady Genevieve, who at this moment, regardless of who she is or is not, is acting more of a lady than you. You should take lessons." 

Her face twisted into an ugly mask of anger, stabbing her finger at Genevieve. "He's a monster! He'll dispose of you-"

"Isabella, you should tend to your duties."

"-just like he dis-"

"ISABELLA!" Guy jerked his head towards Eleanor, who quietly opened the door. The heated breeze could be easily felt as the woman left the room. Eleanor shut and bolted the door after his sister left. 

"Well," Genevieve exhaled as Guy turned her loose. "I don't think that could have gone much worse." 

_Yes, it could have._

Genevieve's fingers moved to the clasp at the back of her neck. "This is beautiful, Guy, but if it's going to upset your sister to see me in your mother's jewelry-"

He removed her hands from the back of her neck. "It warms a man's heart to know his gifts are appreciated. They are not hers to worry or bother with. They are mine to give as I see fit. I want you to wear it. As my lady, they are yours to wear if I so desire." He headed towards the nook, the sounds of clothing hitting the floor. Water was poured from a pitcher and from the sounds, Guy was taking a quick sponge bath. "What did you and Isabella talk about?" The knight tried to sound nonchalant about it, but Genevieve could tell he was upset; upset that she had faced his sister alone.

"Oh, Guy, I know she's your sister but, she must think I'm only capable of talking about was clothing and shopping and the faire." Thanks to the wall, she was unable to see Guy's shoulders shaking in laughter. "Must I be this vapid? I'd like to talk what they think of the war and the current events."

Guy exited the alcove in a clean, tight black shirt. "Eleanor, see if you are needed to help Felicity or could be used in the dining hall. Keep an eye on all the food that is served to me and Lady Genevieve. She is to eat from my trencher only." He waited until the girl was gone. "Many of the guests here are Vaisey's cronies. The Black Brotherhood." 

"Those determined to put John on the throne." Genevieve watched as he pulled a supple leather tunic over his head. It went to his hips and lifting his arms, he motioned for Genevieve to connect the buckles down his side. 

"Yes. Very determined to put John on the throne. The less you say, the less you know, the safer you are." The tunic, now settled, fit him like a second skin, showcasing sinew and muscle.

Genevieve's shoulders sank. "So, you want me to be insipid and talk about clothes and jewelry and shopping." She found herself pulled back into that warm, familiar embrace. 

"If being unexciting and boring will make sure you come home with me on Tuesday or Wednesday safe and whole, then yes. Please talk about clothes and shopping. But not to me. Or simply listen." With that, he cupped her face, his mouth lowering slowly. There was no sound for a time, save heavy breathing and for not the first time, Genevieve was taken aback by the gentleness of the man. 

After a time, Guy stood back, catching his breath, calming his libido, wrestling with his conscious. "Genevieve, there is something you need to know." 

"What is that?" 

_I killed Marian, I killed her_

Guy swallowed hard, swallowed his conscience. Maybe, he could keep it hidden, maybe she wouldn't find out... 

"You make me happier than I have been in ages. I..." he struggled for the words, his hands smoothing her hair back, "I cannot imagine my life without you." 

Genevieve was looking at the tips of her slippers peeking out from the edge of her dress. "Your sister thinks I'm a whore." 

"Do not worry what she thinks. You are my lady and that is how I will introduce you, address you, and treat you. That is who you are. My Lady." He tucked her hand in his elbow. "Perhaps the heavens will allow you to remain such." 

And with that, he led her through the door.

_**~~~...~~~  
** _

Dinner that evening was a grand, but nerve-wracking ordeal for Genevieve. And for Guy, to be honest. Guy sat to Vaisey's right, his office obvious to the gathering of lords and ladies. Genevieve was placed at Guy's right, no easy feat according to Felicity. Twice, Isabella moved her place card, and twice, Felicity quietly moved it back, per Sir Guy's instruction. Sir Rodrick was placed to Genevieve's right, across from Isabella.

Per Guy's orders, Genevieve was served from his trencher, she shared his goblet. Sir Rodrick kept that side of the table in an humorous uproar, which was a good thing because Guy reverted back to the gloomy, broody knight that Genevieve first remembered. He pushed his food around his plate and appeared to drink heavily. As the meal wore on, Sir Rodrick good-naturedly goaded Guy into the retelling of stories from court, the joust held near Salisbury. They mostly joked about the newest squires, in particular a boy around the age of twelve, who the knights were careful not to harm too badly. 

"You went easy on a boy?" Vaisey was enjoying the food and discussion tremendously. "Gisborne! I sent you to London for a reason, not to go easy on a boy."

"There was a reason they went easy on the boy." This was a new voice, one from the other side. A handsome woman of an age, who was confident, self-assured in her surroundings. Genevieve noticed she watched Guy and herself under hooded eyes and it disturbed her. Under the table, she put her hand on Guy's thigh, only to feel it tense up.

"And what would that reason be, Lady Aedyth?" 

The woman - Lady Aedyth - smiled at who appeared to be her husband, before answering the sheriff. "He was a favorite of the ladies, very pretty and had a lovely singing voice. I daresay his lance was weighed down by sheer number of favors tied to it. 

"Culdn't focus onna boy fer all the flyin' ribbons!" Sir Rodrick joked. "Gud thin' Sir Guy managed t' tip 'em frum 'is saddle awl three times. Hate t'see whut 'appen if t'likes o' Sir Robert o' Bamburg 'ad unseated 'im." 

"OY!" A gigantic voice arose from the lower end of one of the tables, emitted from a bear of a man. "Aye resemble that remark!" 

Sir Rodrick winked at Genevieve. "Aye. A lot o' 'em do!" 

"Going easy on the squires, Gisborne?" Vaisey did not seem to be impressed. 

"No need to injure them this young. Besides," Guy focused on the meal in front of him, continuing to put choice bits of meat on Genevieve's plate, "I have arranged and planned a preliminary test joust for the participants."

"Oh really?" Vaisey was all ears. "Do tell." 

Guy grasped Genevieve's hand with his left under the table, his thumb caressing her knuckle. "Sir Rodrick and I spent the afternoon devising and putting together a jousting obstacle course. Points will be rewarded and only the top eight will advance to the actual joust. My lord," Guy could tell the sheriff wanted bloodshed. "'tis no fun to pit a fully trained and experienced knight against a untried boy. This way, the younger ones sharpen their skills and aren't injured or killed before their time." 

"Killed?" Genevieve squeaked. 

"You have never seen a joust, Lady Genevieve?" Lady Aedyth actually looked concerned.

Genevieve swallowed hard. She really didn't want attention brought to her. Guy was gripping her hand under the table painfully tight. "No. Not that I recall." 

"Our Lady Genevieve," Vaisey announced loudly, "was set upon by the outlaw Robin Hood some weeks back. Sir Guy found her in the woods with a head injury and has been seeing to her. I think," he continued, "my master-at-arms has grown sweet on her." He picked up his goblet, taking in the twittering in the Hall. "I think the two of you make a charming couple," he muttered into his chalice, heard only by Guy. "Sweet." 

"Well I think a preliminary joust is a wonderful idea!" The knight in the back raised his mug to Guy. "We all get what we want." 

"But only one can get the golden slipper!" Vaisey toasted half-heartedly with the group. "And it better be you!" he gritted sotto voce at his lead knight.

_**~~~...~~~  
** _

After dinner, the guests meandered into the gaming hall, where the tables had been set up. True to Vaisey's hope, the betting was being placed at a healthy clip, a nice sum going into the sheriff's coffers. If this kept up, he would have the Prince paid off, the Black Brotherhood would have their money and he wouldn't have to squeeze a dime. In fact, he hoped to make a healthy profit. One he might share with Gisborne.

Might. 

Genevieve sat at the card table. They called the game '21', but she knew it as Blackjack. She politely watched several rounds before joining in, making sure of the game and waiting until a new deck was brought in. The most important thing with Blackjack, was to count and not to win big. She was doing well- 

"You are Sir Guy's lady? Lady Genevieve?" 

Genevieve looked up from the table to see Lady Aedyth sitting next to her. She did not see Guy peel himself from the wall and head her way. "Yes." 

The woman's smile was genuine, unlike Isabella's earlier one. "You make him happy. I am glad. Too long he has been withdrawn and solitary and he deserves happiness. If you like, I would sit with you at the joust. Explain things, if you are unsure. They can be rather brutal," she admitted. 

For some reason, the woman set Genevieve at ease. "I would like that, very much, Lady Aedyth. So, you know Sir Guy?" She was suddenly aware of a dark, brooding presence beside her, his hand weighing heavily on her shoulder. 

"Lady Aedyth and I, go back a little ways," Guy nodded. "If you will excuse us, it is late and I would see Lady Genevieve to her rooms." 

The woman's husband found his way to her side. "Of course. I concur with your sheriff. The two of you make a lovely couple." She nodded to Genevieve and patted her on the arm. "We will talk later." With that, she drifted off with her husband. 

Guy led her from the floor and up the stairs. The noise from the hall dimmed once they entered the corridor and the doors shut behind them. 

"I'm not that tired." 

Guy snorted. "What did she say to you?" 

"Who? Lady Aedyth?" Guy didn't look at her, simply stared straight ahead. "She said I made you happy and that you deserve happiness." 

"Tread very lightly with her. Almost as carefully as you tread with my sister." Guy made a mental note to find Lady Aedyth before she saw Genevieve again and make sure she knew some subjects were not to be discussed. "Make sure you have a guard with you at all times if I am not nearby. Joffrey or Michael the Red have been assigned to you." 

"GUY! All these people I can't talk to. And guarded! Who can I trust?" 

They reached their chambers and Guy ushered her inside before she could utter a sound. As he shut and barred the door behind them, he whispered in her ear. "Me. You can trust me." 

And with that, his mouth descended. 

_tbc_

_**~~~...~~~  
** _

_**The wishes I've made are too vicious to tell** _

_**~~~...~~~  
** _

_A/N - During Guy's chat with Rodrick, the elder knight mentions a special 'license' for the joust, which Guy brushes off. In 1194, Richard I's passed a decree - best known as the Conflictus Gallicus - which granted licenses for tournaments, including jousting with rules brought from France. The French were better trained fighters, something that was very obvious to England's absent King. Jousting was a way for soldiers to sharpen and prefect their fighting skills. The King decreed five areas in England for jousting._

 ** _1._** Between Salisbury and Wilton  
 ** _2._** Between Warwick and Kenilworth  
 ** _3._** Between Stamford and Warinford  
 ** _4._** Between Brackley and Mixbury  
 ** _5._** and Blyth and Tickhill.

_Those who wanted to tourney had to obtain and pay for a license in order to do so. Knights not from England were banned from tourneying in England._

_Needless to say, Nottingham isn't on the list, therefore the tourney was unsanctioned. Not that I think the Sheriff would care..._   
_  
"The famous king Richard, observing that the extra training and instruction of the French has made them correspondingly fierce in war, wished that the knights of his kingdom should train in their own lands, so that they could learn from tourneying the art of war and so that the French could not insult the English knights for being crude and less skilled."_

_  
http://www.lordsandladies.org/history-of-jousting.htm_

Because girls need pretty things and Gen _IS_ a girly-girl!

Gen's traveling outfit.

[](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/ZeeDippyVessel/media/Fic%20Artwork/01THursdayarrive_zps80bbc17d.jpg.html)

Thursday night dinner

[](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/ZeeDippyVessel/media/Fic%20Artwork/02afridaydinner_zps37d7d367.jpg.html)

Eleanor's new dress

[](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/ZeeDippyVessel/media/Fic%20Artwork/tumblr_mccdkxHtjK1r65nqjo1_500_zps3506c05a.jpg.html)


	25. Chapter 24 - ...truth...

_**Manna from Heaven** _

_**Chapter 24** _

_**...truth...** _

In the dark, the deep of the night, Guy fitfully rolled over...

_and stepped into the desert. Into an abandoned city..._

_It was hot... so hot. Why was he wearing all these clothes? As he wandered through the uninhabited streets, he began to peel his leather trappings... the long coat first..._

_There was a figure, disappearing around the corner, a swath of white..._

_He nocked an arrow, tiptoed slowly to the edge of the building, only to see an open courtyard, with a fountain, cool water rolling from its head._

_And Marian, standing in the middle of the court, her white tunic saturated in blood..._

_"Guy?"_

_"Oh God, no." He fell to his knees, the bow, his sword disappearing. "Not again! Please kill me now."_

_There was air, as if invisible hands cupped his face, lifting it. "Look at me."_

_He yanked his head to the side, eyes clenched shut. "I cannot."_

_"Yes, you can. Look at me."_

_He didn't dare. He couldn't face the anger, fury, not from her. He shook his head, ignoring the fingertips on his cheeks. "You must hate me."_

_"Open your eyes. I don't hate you."_

_Finally, he did open them. Surprisingly, she wasn't lying. There was no hate, only compassion. "I hate me," he whispered. "I destroy everything I touch, everything I love."_

_"Guy," she admonished, "I would have killed me if I were in your place. We walked different paths, had different destinies. I lied to you, repeatedly. Besides, it was my time."_

_"No." He shook his head. "No, it was not. I should have-"_

_"Guy." Marian's hands became like a gentle vise. "Forgive me."_

_What? His countenance showed the confusion._

_"Forgive me. Forgive me for all the cruelty and lies I told you. Let me go. Don't dwell on what you can't change." Slight pressure from her fingertips forced him to rise, to stand. "You need to find peace and it is at your fingertips. Become a better man." She began to shimmer, float away. "You can still change your path, change your destiny. Do it. The first step is to let me go."_

_"I...cannot..."_

_"Let me go."_

_"I cannot."_

_"Forgive me..."_

Guy sat straight up in the bed, sweat pouring down his neck, his chest, the stench of it, permeating the air. Her voice still lingered in the rafters.

_Let me go._

The furs on the bed fell to his waist as he drew his knees up. Encircling them with his arms, his head fell on them. "I cannot."

_Let me go..._

"I am lost." 

_Search for peace, Guy. You deserve it._

"Lost... lost...lo-"

"Guy?" Genevieve, who had been sleeping so peacefully, was now sitting up next to him. It was dark, the curtains to the bed, completely loosed, how, when, he didn't know. He truthfully didn't remember coming to bed. He felt her hand on his back, slick with sweat. "You're clammy."

The air in the bed suddenly became cloying, heavy. "I cannot breathe!"

"Lady Genevieve?" Eleanor's voice was not quite awake, but concerned. Genevieve grabbed her night robe from the hook inside the bed and slung it on. It took a moment for her to find the opening, before sliding off the mattress. A waft of uncomfortably cool air greeted her as she slipped from the bed, causing her to gasp. Guy's breathing was heavy, labored and very audible in the room. Eleanor was standing by the fireplace looking from the curtained bed to Genevieve. From the low glow of the fireplace, Genevieve could see she was holding a small lamp. "Can I do anything?" 

"Get dressed quickly and go to the kitchen and get two large pitchers of cool water-"

"I want wine!" 

"Wine is what's got you into this mess," Genevieve hissed, not seeing that Eleanor's eyes grew wider at the sound of Guy's growl coming from the bed. "Two large pitchers of water and two goblets."

The girl was dressed - Gen noticed she dressed in the yellow bliaut and black, plain kirtle - and out the door within a minute. The moment the door shut, Genevieve yanked the curtains open and turned to the fireplace, quickly stirring up the flames. She began to light lamps-

"Do not do that." Genevieve looked over her shoulder at the sound of his pained voice. Guy was sitting up, the heels of his hands rubbing against his eye sockets. 

"How much did you drink after you kissed me goodnight and left?" 

Guy growled. Truthfully, Genevieve didn't expect an answer, so she wasn't shocked when she didn't get it. Taking a lamp into the nook, she rummaged until she found the small trunk that was packed with her personal items. Finding the small bag she was looking for, she removed two caplets from the Tylenol bottle, grabbed a familiar swatch of black material, and returned to the room. 

"Sir Rodrick is a hard man to drink under the table," Guy now admitted painfully, "but I did it." 

"Well, if this is first prize, I think I'll pass." She handed him two capsules. "Really, Guy. That sort of stuff is acceptable when you're in college," she was met with a baleful, black stare, "and I'm thinking I might send to Locksley for Thornton's recipe for his Magical Morning Mead if you're going to insist on doing this." Guy tossed the two tablets to the back of his throat and swallowed, grimacing while he did so. "You know-"

"Shut it, Genevieve."

"-you might want to put on some pants, at least," Genevieve continued anyway, complete unfazed. "Eleanor will come back and be completely shocked and terrified and might even be so disgusted, she'll go home and then I'll have to use your sister as a lady's maid." She grinned evilly. "Oh, you know she'll looooove that!" 

"If I put on trousers, will you shut it?" 

Genevieve thrust the sleeping pants she herself had slept in several nights some weeks back at him with a smirk. Guy rolled from the bed, grabbed the loose trousers and pulled them up, tying them at the waist. "Happy?" 

She nodded. The sassy leer slid from her face as she perused his. Tucking the stray, wild locks of hair behind his ear, she nodded to the sitting area, where it bathed in shadow. Watching him go into the shadows, she returned to the nook, grabbing one of his poet's shirts and sliding it on. She then allowed him to sit in silence for a time, waiting for Eleanor's return. 

"Where is Sir Rodrick?" she finally asked quietly. Genevieve had sunk to the edge of the bed, closely watching the man in the gloom. 

"Probably still under the table at the pub where I left him." 

Genevieve raised her eyebrows and nodded. "Remind me not to go drinking with you," she muttered under her breath. 

"Heard that." 

Eleanor returned with the goblets and a large pitcher. Thanking her, she urged the girl to go back to bed. Once Eleanor had settled down and in for the rest of the night, she poured two chalices of water. She handed one to Guy, before partaking herself. After a few sips, she put the goblet down. _The water in Nottingham was not much better than the water at Locksley,_ she thought to herself. _It must be an acquired taste._

"You are looking at me as if I am the most sotted drunk in Nottingham."

"Why do you do this to yourself? I have to wonder why, Guy." 

"Wasting time," he hissed. "Waiting for the castle to quiet down so no one would notice I was staying in your chambers with you." He set the goblet down and reached for hers. Shrugging, Genevieve picked up the empty goblet and filled it. It was mildly amusing that he was double-fisting water as opposed to wine. "You were upset about the thought of the two of us making love with Eleanor in the next room, so I wanted to ensure I would be incapable of getting it up," he curtly reminded her. "I am sure you find my actions and behavior dim-witted and reprehensible." Guy's whisper rose up in the dark.

"Is us sleeping together really that big a deal?" 

"No." This was spat. "Come Saturday, most will not care a whit." It was quiet for a moment. "Lord and Lady Harridston brought their two daughters. They are of marriageable age and I suspect they are scouting about for husbands for the two of them. No, I am not interested in either, I do not desire either of them, despite the fact a union with one or the other would be advantageous, because Lord Harridston is a member of the Black Brotherhood." 

"I didn't say anything." Truth was, Genevieve didn't want to think of Guy marrying anyone, except maybe her. Probably her.

Definitely her.

"One is whiney and snivels and the other laughs at everything. She has horse teeth." It was quiet for a time. "Isabella put the families in the opposite side of the castle. That way those who are single can come and go for the most part without being seen or causing a scandal."

"I am a scandal?" 

"You are my lady," he reminded her. "And that fact alone makes both of us a scandal." 

Genevieve sank down on the loveseat next to him. "Your reputation is that bad?" 

"God, I hope not." With that, he placed the goblet in the floor and leaned over, laying his head in her lap. Without thinking, Genevieve began to caress the temple, stroking his hair away from his face, gently raking the long curls up and behind his ear.

"Your nightmare must have been wretched." The repetitive motion of her hand was soothing, lulling Guy and his headache into a sense of peace. 

"Did I disturb you?"

Genevieve continued her cyclic motion. "Restless. You called out several times." 

"I am sorry if I troubled you." 

Genevieve waited a few moments, weighing carefully what she was about it say. "What disturbs me is the frequency you have them. Something is bothering you and it's eating you up inside. Maybe you should talk about what is bothering you. I will listen." 

Guy grabbed her hand and pulled it to his mouth, kissing the palm. "I have done horrible, horrible things, Genevieve." He sighed into the fleshly cup. "Things I cannot forgive myself for. They haunt me, like demons; claw at me at every waking hour and in sleep." 

"Marian is a demon?" 

In the mist, unseen by the woman, a wraith rose in the gloom, shrieking laughter echoing from the walls. 

_I knew it I knew it I knew it she will hate you like I do like we all do nobody loves you_

"Genevieve-"

"You begged for her forgiveness. In the past, you have begged for death, cried for death. Why would you need her forgiveness?" 

_Tell her the truth! Tell her the truth! Coward! You murdered me because I didn't want you..._

By now, Guy was off, off in a hell of his own making. He turned loose of Genevieve's hand and she resumed stroking the side of his face. "I destroyed her. Just like I destroyed my family. I destroy everything. Everything I touch, everything I love." In shock, Genevieve realized she was gently wiping moisture from his face. 

"Guy, you were child when your parents were killed." 

"It was my fault."

The specter had floated into the ceiling across from the two. 

_Your fault your fault you killed them you killed me_

"Guy-"

"It was my fault. It was my fault Marian died. I caused it." The wetness on his face was becoming more abundant, Genevieve alarmed at the grief. "I can never forgive myself. I ruin everything." With this, his voice dropped lower, softer, so that Genevieve had to strain to hear. "I would have done anything for her. I _did_ everything for her."

_Tell her the truth! Tell her the truth! Tell her the truth! Tell her the truth!_

Unbeknownst to Genevieve, Guy looked up, focusing on the specter only he could see, that was of his own making. "I would have died for her. I would trade places, gladly, anything, so that she would be alive today." The minute it fell from his lips, the demon dissipated, shock on its face, but Guy didn't see that. Truth was, he wasn't aware of where he was or who he was mumbling to. Between the wine and the months of pent up frustration, exhaustion of pleading for forgiveness had taken its toll on the man and somewhere deep inside, the dam of emotion burst. 

"I'm sure she understands." 

"Does not matter," he derisively snorted. "The only reason why she agreed to marry me was to protect her father. She did not love me. There is no good in me." 

That hung in the air and Genevieve's response as out of her mouth before she realized. "Well, that was her loss!" She rambled on, not heeding her words. "No good in you, my ass! Who told you that? That's bull shit! I love you. You rescued me, housed me, fed me, clothed me. You didn't have to do that. You've helped me with this stupid contract. You didn't have to do that either!" 

His large hand suddenly wound its way around her neck, behind her head, bending her closer to him. "You do?" 

Genevieve blinked. "I do what?" 

"You love me?" 

She didn't hesitate. "Yes, I do." _God help me._

"God help you. Why?" 

Even in the dark, the glow in the fireplace now frittered away to a negligible light, Guy could see her smiling face leaning over his. "Because, Sir, there is good in you. You are a good man." 

He pulled her head down, the kiss hard, demanding, before turning her loose. "You keep believing that. Please do not leave me." He then tucked his hand beneath his cheek and gratefully slipped into a dreamless sleep.

Leaving Genevieve to stroke the tears from his face and wonder what on earth had happened to cause the man in her lap to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders.

_**~~~...~~~** _

It was a purple day. Genevieve decreed it as such.

She woke up, in the bed, a vague recollection of being lifted in a strong embrace, butterfly kisses that smelled faintly of soured wine and sweat. Eleanor was up, the fire roaring in the fireplace. The curtains were tied back, the remnants of the evening's water party removed. She was wearing the black kirtle and unadorned yellow bliaut Genevieve had made for her.

"Eleanor? What time is it?" She put both feet on the floor and jerked them back up, wondering where the rug was at.

"About eight-ish, my lady."

"Sir Guy-"

"Was gone before I was up. He came by a few minutes ago, to wake you. He will be back in twenty minutes to escort you to the dining hall to break your fast." 

No sooner than she finished the sentence, the door was flung open, Guy leaning in. His hair was wet, curling at the collar, and he was clean shaven. "You are up? Good! I will be back in fifteen minutes to take you to the morning meal." There was no trace of the fact he had over-imbibed the night before.

"Guy, I can find my way to the dining hall." 

"Yes, but I would like for you to find your way to the dining hall in fifteen minutes. Considering how long it took you to leave Locksley and how long it took you to get ready yesterday for dinner," Genevieve gasped in indignation. It had taken her no time to get ready for dinner! "I will be back in fifteen minutes to escort you to the morning meal." The door shut.

"My lady?" Eleanor was blushing. "What would you wish to wear?" She poured water into a large bowl and laid the wash cloth and soap that was in her hand next to it. 

Genevieve thought for a moment. "Archery contest today, right?" Eleanor nodded. "Outdoors then and nippy. Do you think the purple is too bold?" 

"Lady Genevieve, the red you wore yesterday was extremely bold. The purple will state you are a lady of quality." 

Genevieve was now wetting down the cloth. She bathed the night before after Guy left and simply felt the need to swipe the necessary things. "My 'quality', as you say, is questionable. Bring my make up bag. I'll put on the war paint before I get dressed." 

For some minutes, the two women worked in silence, Genevieve enhancing features, Eleanor laying out the dress Genevieve asked for. After putting on her bra and underwear, Eleanor helped her into the dress. 

It was opulent in its simplicity; purple velvet, with a scoop neck and sheer bell sleeves. There was gold, corded trim at the short end of the sleeve with a matching, simple low-slung tie belt. Eleanor retrieved a harmonizing, netted snood, giving Genevieve the look of having more hair than she really had. Unbeknownst to Guy, the youngest Harridston daughter made a snide remark to her maid about Genevieve's short hair, who repeated the crudeness to Felicity, who repeated it to Eleanor, who repeated it to...

"Eleanor, does Sir Guy staying here with me bother you?" 

The girl was quiet for a moment "'Tis not my place to say, my lady." 

"I'm asking." She handed Eleanor her crucifix. "Would you hook this, please?" She turned her back as the girl did as she was asked.

The girl bit her tongue in thought. "When I first came, I was scared of 'im. It was whispered he was evil, a demon. But now..." her voice trickled off. "There's another side to 'im. Felicity says he pays her well to keep this room clean, just so her mother can get the herbs, salves, and medicines she needs for her burn injury. You're the reason. Before, it would bother me. But not now. He truly cares for you." There was a pat to the back of Genevieve's neck. "There you go." There was the sound of deep, male voices and spurs echoing in the hallway, as the rest of the castle came to life. "Lady Genevieve," Eleanor whispered, as if afraid to be overheard, "watch out for the Harridston girls. They are husband-hunting and both see you as a bothersome mistress." 

 

Guy had to marry, needed to marry and Genevieve knew this. _But not while I'm here. Surely-_

"He says I'm his lady and I intend to be his lady," she reminded the girl. 

"True, but you are _not_ Lady Gisborne yet, and they were overheard chattering to their mother. They consider you of no merit, simply someone to tolerate and be rid of." 

_Ah. Twelfth century gossip mills are just as evil as twenty-first century gossip mills. Tittle-tattle has been alive and well for a looooong time!_

Before Genevieve could reply, there was a knock at the door. Not waiting for an answer, it flew open, Guy and Sir Rodrick standing at the ready. Both men drank in the bountiful eye-full of Genevieve. 

"Nice." Guy held his hand out. 

"Och, mon!" Sir Rodrick's Scottish accent was thick this morning and his eyes were red-rimmed. He good-naturedly shoved Guy to the side and took Genevieve's hand. "Good morrow, fair lady. Aye wuld escort ye to t'hall to break yer fast." 

With a smile, Genevieve withdrew her hand and drew on all the southern charm her grandmother had instilled in her from as far back as Genevieve could remember. "Oh, thank you so much Sir Rodrick; ah am so honored at your offah, but I do believe ah have promised Sir Guy mah company for the mornin' meal." She raised a finger to ward him off. "An' the midday meal an' the evening meal. In fact, he has been a voracious knight an' has promised mah company for all of the meals." 

If the knight was offended, he didn't show it. Instead, he smiled. "Sir Guy, you do be a greedy bastard!" 

Guy was taking Genevieve's hand in his. "Very." Kissing her knuckles - and making Genevieve's knees buckle in the process, he whispered against her skin, "I have something for you."

_**~~~...~~~** _

Genevieve heard the noise long before she and Guy arrived in the main dining hall. The volume rose as they neared the open doors and then dropped suddenly as they entered.

"I am a lucky man," he whispered in his ear.

"No, I think the women are jealous of me." She squeezed Guy's arm. 

"That could very well be." The two descended the steps slowly. "The stones I have put around your neck were not cheap." 

In this, he told the truth. Before leaving their rooms, Guy produced a filigreed collar inset with fingernail-sized purple stones - amethysts - highly polished, and placed it around her neck, making sure the collar and her family necklace lay just so and complimented each other. 

They were met at the bottom of the stairs by Isabella. She quickly looked Genevieve up and down, lingering for a few extra moments on the extravagant jewelry at Genevieve's throat before dipping slightly. "Brother." 

"Sister." 

"Oh fabulous!" Genevieve smiled brightly. "We've established family ties. What's next?"

Isabella's smirk was now pasted on and insincere. "I see my brother has spared no expense in clothing you properly."

"Isabella-"

"The stones match your dress beautifully, but I must remark on the crucifix. Unusual, if beautiful piece for my brother to purchase. I did notice it yesterday when we met. You must be fond of it to wear it so much." 

"Isabella-"

"It was mine. I was wearing it when Sir Guy found me." The chatter around the trio came to a halt when she said it, including the sheriff, who was hovering over Isabella's shoulder, as well as Lord and Lady Harridston and Lady Aedyth. 

"Strange," Vaisey mused, "the story I heard was that you had been robbed and left with little to recommend you in the middle of the road." He tapped his lip thoughtfully before continuing. "If you were set on by thieves, the bandit was pathetic and incompetent for leaving such a valuable piece wrapped around your pretty little throat." He tipped his head and smiled, daring Genevieve to retort. There was the underlying hint of a threat beneath the comment. Genevieve straightened her spine. 

"Perhaps, he did not have time to finish the job." 

The sheriff's smile, if anything, became oilier. He turned his attention to his Master-at-Arms. "Sir Guy, I believe Lord and Lady Harridston would like a word with you. Privately. That means," he flicked Genevieve painfully on the nose, "it does not concern little lost-lambs." He leaned in towards Guy. "I would hear him out and consider his request very closely, if I were you." With that, he turned and meandered towards the head of the table. Genevieve watched as Guy was pulled from her side by Lord Harridston, Lady Harridston following, but not before glaring at Genevieve. She felt a tap at her shoulder. 

"I wish to apologize," Isabella began softly, "for my rudeness yesterday." It was obvious to Genevieve, Guy had cornered his sister somewhere, sometime in the past twelve hours and forced an apology from her. "I was shocked to see my mother's jewelry after thinking it was destroyed or stolen over twenty years ago. I never thought to see it again." 

Genevieve inclined her head, trying to sneak a peak at Guy. He stood with one hip cocked, his arms crossed over his chest. His back was to her, but she could tell by the set of his spine, he was not pleased with the conversation. "Guy told me what happened to your family, the bailiff and some of the difficulties the two of you faced when you arrived in France. I'm sure it was a difficult time for you." She looked again, meeting the calculating gleam in the eyes of Lady Harridston. Genevieve stared at her while continuing her conversation. "Again, it was simply a loan from Guy. They were returned to him last night after I retired." Finally, the woman looked away, red-faced. Genevieve then turned her full attention to Isabella. 

"The thing is, _Lady_ Genevieve, is they rightfully belong to Lady Gisborne." 

"They rightfully belong to Sir Guy. There is no Lady Gisborne, Lady Isabella." 

Isabella leaned into Genevieve. "But if the sheriff and Lord Harridston have their way, there will be a Lady Gisborne by Yule, and it will not be you." 

A familiar hand gently clasped and squeezed Genevieve's shoulder, giving her a quiet, if firm assurance. "But again, she might be. One never knows." With that, Guy took Genevieve by the hand and led her towards the table. He pulled her chair arm and arm with his and after setting her in hers, he joined her, leaning so closely, it was almost indecent. He was making a statement, a public one and every person in the room was aware of it. As like last night, she shared Guy's platter, eating after him. He talked about empty things, benign things, the weather. Genevieve wanted to ask, discuss what it was he conferred with the Harridstons, what his cryptic comment about her being the next Lady Gisborne... 

_Stay with me... Be with me..._

Surely, she made it clear she was not the sort to just shack up, they both knew at some point, she would be returned to her reality unless something... magical... other-worldly... intervened...

_Séjour avec moi... être avec moi..._

Laughter jerked her back to the past present. On occasion, Sir Rodrick, who was seated across from the two, interjected with a joke. The man was hung-over, but obviously not worse for the wear. 

"There is an archery contest this afternoon after lunch," Guy informed her, spooning cinnamon pears on her plate and very aware she was journeying inward. "I have duties this morning and I wish to do a final test of the jousting arena. If you wish to shop, this morning would be a good time to do it." A drawstring, velvet purse made its way to a place beside her plate, the heavy thud as it settled on the table clearly audible. "That is yours to spend as you wish. Do be careful, there will be thieves and cut-purses about." Guy was leaning so close, she could feel the waft of his breath in her hair. "Keep Eleanor close, as well as Joffrey." He leaned back slightly. "You have new people to stay away from..."

"Let me guess. The Harridstons." 

Guy's arm stole around Genevieve's back, a blatant show of public possessiveness. Genevieve watched dispassionately as he placed some late prunes on her plate. "They wish to make a marriage for one if not both of their daughters and they consider me the top prospect for either one. If the Black Brotherhood's plans succeed, I will be a very powerful knight and lord." He said this as if he were mentioning it was going to rain in the near future. "Vaisey, at this time, is in a mood to pander to them, even though he knows I will not have either one, nor will I be forced into a marriage against my will." He was smiling as he said this, "Regardless, it is a topic you and I have danced around and I intend to discuss it with you after the faire." He leaned forward, a large piece of fruit held tenderly between his thumb and fingers. "I will not have you thinking I am making a marriage contract behind your back when I am not." He popped the prune into his mouth. "You should try these; they are very good."

Genevieve was putting them back on his plate. "They give me the runs." 

Guy was smirking. "They keep one's entrails clean." 

"Thank you for your concern, I am not in need of a good, healthy bowel movement at this time." 

Sir Rodrick was snickering into his plate. Isabella was green and mumbling about 'proper table conversation'.

"Regardless," Guy continued, "as you are my guest, you will sit with me at the archery contest." 

"Good seats?" 

"The best." 

"Which one o' yer archers is shootin', Gisborne?" Sir Rodrick's color was a bit better. 

"Michael the Red." Guy leaned over to Genevieve. "Only Hood is a better archer. We expect Hood to make an attempt to win the prize." 

"Ah." Sir Rodrick brightened up. "Would ye be likin' sum help wit' that?" 

"If it means capturing Hood, we will take all the help we can get!" Vaisey interjected. 

"He is very slippery," Guy continued. He watched as Lady Aedyth's husband kissed his wife's knuckles and excused himself from the group he and his wife were sitting with and left with several men. "Are you finished?" 

"I believe so." 

"Tomorrow," he leaned in closely, whispering in her ear, "I believe I have a treat for you." 

Genevieve leaned closer, turning to face him, their lips millimeters apart. "What sort of treat?" 

"The sheriff imports a bitter, dark drink from Byzantium that is wonderful." 

Genevieve's eyes grew wide, her mind racing. _Byzantium, Byzantium, the Byzantines, Sophia Haggai... TURKEY!_ "Coffee!" she breathed. "You have coffee?"

The conversation was soft, audible only between the two, but their erotic chemistry had caught the attention of every one there, including people who were not supportive of the couple. "You know of this drink?" 

"I love this drink. I would do anything to have it tomorrow morning." 

Lady Aedyth smiled benignly at the group she was with and got up to leave. She headed towards the lower doorway.

The Knight's eyes fluttered to a close. "I will take you up on that. Joffrey will escort you to the archery stage which is being set up in the main bailey. He knows where my seats are at. Bring Eleanor as well. Enjoy your morning." 

With that, Guy rose and followed Lady Aedyth from dining hall, knowing Genevieve's eyes followed him. 

And aware that several angry pairs of eyes watched her. 

Genevieve picked up the velvet purse Guy placed next to her goblet on the table, oddly amused at the heaviness of it. She turned to see Joffrey standing by her chair and Eleanor making her way to Genevieve. "Shopping, Joffrey. Two of us!" She picked up the purse by the strings and swung it in front of the young man. "Can you keep up?" 

No one but Genevieve heard him moan.

_**~~~...~~~** _

"Lady Aedyth. A word."

The woman turned slowly, drinking in the figure of her former lover. "Sir Guy, you are looking well." A small, but sincere smile graced her features.

Guy wasn't in the mood to dispense pleasantries and Aedyth could tell. Grabbing her arm, he pulled her into a quiet alcove. "I wish to discuss a matter with you." 

"You wish to discuss Lady Genevieve." She saw the quick fire in his eyes. "You do not want me to let drop of our former relationship." Guy nodded in agreement. "To be honest, I do not wish anyone to know of it. Any. One. 'Tis one best forgotten." She smiled slightly. "Well, not completely forgotten, but never spoken of. It was a rather well kept secret. I wish to keep it that way." 

Guy dropped her wrist. "As do I. So as we agree-"

"Your Lady is charming and delightful, Sir Guy. I like her. She has a quick wit and is much brighter than some would give her credit for." 

Guy had to agree with the woman. "She is rather astute and curious about things about her." 

"She is a good match for you. Unlike some here who wish to come to agreement with you."

With this, Guy shut his eyes and shook his head. "Are they chattering?" 

"Horribly, and they are bending a lot of ears. I can name several more willing and able alternatives if you are not interested."

Guy glared. _As if he wished to be married to either one of those little shrews._

"Winchester, Lincolnton, Westborough, to name a few. Malbury has a son of marriageable age." 

"Aedyth, I am most impressed you are a walking book of match-makers, with a ready list of suitors, however, I am not interested in who they marry, so long as it is not me!" The last word echoed down the hall, both knight and lady, looking around, making sure they were still alone. After making sure there were no eavesdroppers, Guy continued. "Suffice to say, I am not interested in either of them, or anyone else, save the only woman who will be seen on my arm in the duration of the faire." 

"Good. Good for you and for her." She raised her finger. "She needs a friend, Guy. The little Harridans are stacking it up against your lady." 

"How badly?"

Aedyth began to tick from her fingers. "Whore, strumpet..."

"And you can stop this?" 

"I can be in her corner. If I am in her corner, so will my husband. Believe me, Guy. I will always remember our time fondly, cherish it, but I regret it. I have as much to lose as you."

"How is that?" 

She looked at him sadly. "I love him. I love him, as much as you love her. Some mistakes you can correct, others you simply learn from and move on. I have learned from my mistakes. Have you learned from yours?" 

With that, she turned and moved on down the empty hallway, leaving Guy with advice to think about.

_**~~~...~~~** _

By the time Guy made his way to the podium to his and Genevieve's private seats, she was there, flanked by Joffrey and Eleanor. Joffrey looked strained.

"Where are her packages?" 

Joffrey jumped, startled by his lord. "She bought sweets, some of which are eaten already." He pointed to Genevieve's lap, several small sacks of something in them. 

Guy slid into his seat, thankful Vaisey on the other side, was involved in conversation with Winchester the Younger. Guy reached over to lift the first cloth sack. "What have we here?" 

"Cinnamon candied walnuts. They're delish!" Genevieve dipped her hand in the bag before it was pulled out of her reach. "I will probably want more before the weekend is over." Guy nodded as he popped several in his mouth.

"Did you not purchase anything else?" 

"Nope. Just window shopping." She patted the purse, tied to her belt. "This has to last all weekend." 

Guy leaned over, nuzzling her openly. "No, it does not. If you need more..." he let the sentence drag out.

There was great fanfare, blaring trumpets, which made Genevieve squirm, before the Sheriff announced the start of the archery contest. The line was queued up. 

The younger boys were cheered if they didn't even hit the target. Come to think of it, any time one of the younger ones stepped up to shoot, those around the target stepped far back! 

_Thwack!_

Anyone wearing a hood or a low covering cap was scrutinized to bits. Sir Rodrick's captain shot; he wasn't half bad.

_Thwack!_

Guy was trying not to yawn. 

"Tired or still getting over last night?" 

"Both." He leaned sideways, seeing Eleanor behind Genevieve's chair. She didn't seem to be paying attention to the goings on in front of them. "Eleanor, are you bored?" 

_Thwack!_

She dipped once. "I'm not enthralled by archery, my lord. I am looking forward to the joust." 

"Then it would not bother you if I sent you to Locksley on an errand?" 

_Thwack!_

And so, before the last ten competitors shot, Eleanor found herself behind Joffrey on his horse, heading to Locksley for the herbs that went into Thornton's morning mead. 

_Thwack!_

"Are you going to drink yourself into a stupor again tonight?" Genevieve was not amused. 

Guy didn't answer. He was scanning the ramparts. 

_Thwack!_

"If staying in her room is going to cause you so much grief, why didn't you put us up in your chambers here? Or we could have stayed back in Locksley and not worried about anyone judging us sleeping together!" 

Guy's eyes narrowed, not stopping his scrutiny of the battlements, the crowd. "Staying in Locksley would be inconvenient, considering the late-night entertainment. The roads will be rife with thieves. Additionally, I rather doubt my probable ability to go much of anywhere come Saturday evening."

_Thwack!_

"As for the rooms, the ones we currently abide in are more comfortable and the bed is bigger. I daresay, Sir Rodrick is barely fitting the bed in my chambers here, if at all."

_Thwack!_

"So you put us in her room because of the bed." 

"Genevieve," the words were forced through clenched teeth, "shut it." 

"Fine, be that way." She snatched the sack of sweetened walnuts from the knight's lap. "I don't have to share either." 

_Thwack!_

Michael the Red stepped forward onto the shooting platform. Guy's hand reached over to take Genevieve's hand. "I apologize, my lady."

"You just want my walnuts." 

"Michael is quite good. I suggest you watch carefully. I just saw Allan-a-Dale. That means Hood is here." 

"Allan..."

"The man who forcibly took your crucifix from you." Genevieve gasped in fury. Guy leaned over, his head so close to hers, and pointed. "Watch Michael. He is quite good." 

"You're sure?" Guy nodded. "You're trying to distract me." Guy nodded again. As Genevieve turned to face the archery target, Guy snatched the walnuts from her and settled back. He popped several in his mouth, his attention again riveted to the upper walls. _Ah yes. Allan, I see you. Where are the guards?_

"You're going to owe me a bag of walnuts, mister." 

_Thwack!_

Guy tipped the crumbs from the sack into his mouth, handing her the empty bag when he was finished. "Oh, I plan on giving you more than enough glazed nuts tonight." He pointed at the target. Michael's arrow was inside the bull's eye, close to the center. "One of the bags I have instructed Eleanor to bring back is Thornton's relaxing sleeping draught." He leered at Genevieve. "We will make sure she has a healthy dollop in her mead tonight." 

"GUY!" 

Several more archers stepped up, Guy's attention scanning the crowd. With a leisurely air, he reached across the arms of their chairs and grasped Genevieve's hand. Inspecting the fingers and deciding they were sufficiently coated in candied cinnamon, he proceeded to put them in his mouth and suck the offending spices from them. 

_Thunk_

"What are you doing," the woman hissed.

A huge cheer went up,- 

He pulled her fingers from his mouth, inspecting around the nails closely. "Making a point. We are being watched." Seeing a spot he missed, he put her index finger back between his lips, his tongue darting beneath the nail and sending her a smoldering gaze in the process.

-the arrow just shot, quivering in the direct center of the bull's-eye.

Suddenly, his teeth bit down hard, causing Genevieve to yelp, before he released her hand and shot up, Genevieve now cradling the injured digits. "HOOD!" Guy jumped over the small balustrade in front of them, landing nimbly on both feet. Shoving Michael to the side, he nodded towards Genevieve. "Take her to her room and then take sentry on the east hall." He was pulling his broadsword from his scabbard as the crowd suddenly began to mill about, hampering the knight's movement. "MOVE! OUT OF THE WAY!" Guy disappeared into the throng, guards with bright yellow feathers in their helmets following. Genevieve was still clutching her hand - _shit, he bites hard!_ \- when she felt a hand at her elbow. 

"C'mon, my lady." Michael the Red was searching the crowd, chaos now breaking out. Genevieve watched the sheriff and Winchester run down the steps on the other side and disappear into the crowd, Vaisey's screaming giving away his location. Sir Rodrick was head and shoulders above the crowd, parting it much like Moses parted the Red Sea. Several of his guards were following in his wake as well. "Sir Guy's orders. Follow me." Grabbing her purse and remaining sweets, he led her back into the castle, to a side alcove and up the stairs. 

"Michael, can you please slow down?" Genevieve was grasping at her skirts. "Between my dress and the cloak... I'm going to trip if you don't slow down!" As they rounded a corner, Michael waited to help her regain her balance and her skirts, neither of them noticing the two women against the wall until they made their way past. 

"Whore," Harridston, the Younger spat.

"He'll be rid of you fast enough!" Harridston, the Horse-toothed Elder followed up. "We'll make sure!" 

Before Genevieve could huff in righteous indignation, Michael propelled her faster towards the next turn in the corridor. As they reached, he turned to the two supposed ladies and snarled, "Jealous cunts!" 

Their gasps followed the two as they whirled around the corner and arrived at Genevieve's door. Michael opened it up and shoved her forward, tossing her purse and small sacks to the chair next to the entryway. "Stay 'ere until Sir Guy comes. No one else. Drop the bar." With that, the door slammed in her face. 

Genevieve stood, staring at the wooden entry before remembering her fingers. She looked down at them with a whine, noting the while the bite marks were fading, she was most likely going to bruise. Stiffly, her hands went to the clasp, fussing with the hook before removing the cloak from her shoulders. She turned to take it to the nook to hang it up when she noticed him. 

"Lady Genevieve." Robin Hood bowed deeply. "Just the person I wanted to speak with. I came to apologize, among other things." 

_tbc_

_**~~~...~~~** _

_**And if I see you round like a ghost in my town you liar** _

_**~~~...~~~** _

http://www.food.com/recipe/cinnamon-candied-walnuts-445224

It was a purple day

  
[](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/ZeeDippyVessel/media/Fic%20Artwork/08amonday_zps2941ba43.jpg.html)


	26. 25 - Love...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Warning: Angry, angry Genevieve. A lot of dropping of the "F" bomb.**

_**Manna from Heaven** _

_**Chapter 25** _

_**Love...** _

Genevieve stared at the outlaw in her... in their bedroom, mouth agape. Hood remained bowed over, his head tilted up, a boyish smile that some found charming gracing his face.

She inhaled, her frown going deep. "You!" Her voice was a deep, guttural hiss, fists clenched white-knuckled at her sides.

The Outlaw stood up, his bow propped next to his leg. "Lady Genevieve," he began, his expression was that as if he were addressing an old friend. "I wish to apologize-"

"WHAT? YOU WISH TO WHAT?" She slung the cloak from her shoulders, throwing it sideways. Pointing her finger, she began to move, circle the man in hers and Guy's room. 

"Well... apologize for shooting you." 

"SHUT UP! What the hell are you doing, shooting arrows in people's homes at night? Were you born in a fucking barn?" Genevieve's voice was quickly sliding into the Kentucky accent she worked so hard to hide most times. She now had the man stepping backwards. As she crawled past the little side table, she reached out, grabbing a brass candlestick. 

"Well, I wasn't aiming at you-"

"NO! You were aiming for Guy!" 

Robin shrugged. "Well, that is tru... OW!" Genevieve pitched the heavy piece at the man, hitting him in the shoulder. Robin's hand went to where it struck. "There's no need-"

"I hope it fucking bruises, you panty-wipe! I had to have stitches!" She spied another candlestick within reach and grabbed it. Robin was quickly realizing that he was trapped in a room with a hell-cat. "I was laid up for days! I had to be helped into the bathroom and watched over like a child for two days!" She slung the next candlestick, hitting him in the thigh. As Robin bent over, grasping his upper leg, she shoved two raised fingers at him. "TWO FUCKING DAYS!" She thrust the digits in the man's face as if to prove her point. "Guy watched over me, like an expectant mother every fucking time I had to go to the fucking toilet and he didn't do it because he was a fucking pervert!" 

Both of Robin's hands went up. "Yes, I know and really I'm truly sorry about that, but you have to understand that I have every reason to hate Gisborrrrr... oooooh whoa whoa whoa wait a minute," Genevieve was now circling by the fireplace, eye-balling the square, silver hand-sized filigreed lidded container within reach. Robin pointed at the little case she was obtaining. "There's no need to get violent." 

"Are you fucking SHITTING me??? VIOLENT???" Genevieve now palmed the box, that probably had some pretty sharp edges, Robin surmised, the way she was spinning it in the palm of her hand. "You shot me in the middle of the night! I didn't do anything to you and you shot me, admitted you were aiming for Guy! There are a slew of arrow holes in his bed where you've been shooting at him!" She threw again, a well-aimed pitch with an elaborate spin of her arm, clipping the man in the forehead. "And you want to preach to me about violent???" 

"WOMAN!" Hood was clutching his head where she hit him with the little box. "You almost poked my eye out!" He inspected his hand, surmised she nicked the skin and there was not so much blood. "Where did you learn to throw like that?" 

She grabbed the poker from beside the fireplace. "I played fast-pitch softball in high school! My specialty was the bean ball! Don't change the subject!" She swung the longer stick, Robin barely dodging it. He made a lunge for the poker, grasping around the end, which gouged into his hands. He turned loose, stepping backwards as Genevieve swung it again, the sound of the metal whooshing through the air. He grabbed at it a second time, actually managing to take hold of it behind the point. For a moment, the two played tug-a-war, back and forth before Genevieve shoved him when he pulled back, forcing him off-balance and almost making him fall onto the bed. When he fell, he turned loose of the poker, causing Genevieve to fall backwards and in turn dropping the dangerous weapon and bending it. He then ran into the little sunroom, taking refuge behind the table. Quickly he checked the windows. They had been replaced since Marian's stay here, when he shot them out before, the panes were actually able to open. He reached for the lever, unlatching it before Genevieve darted around the table after him. Robin quickly found himself playing ring-around-the-rosie with an enraged woman. 

"What were you doing in Gisborne's room anyway? Is he keeping you prisoner? I'm willing to help you escape, take you to Ripley's Convent-"

"I was in his room," Genevieve was now stalking him back around the table, back towards the window, "having a great time and enjoying myself tremendously until you shot me in the fucking back with an arrow!"

Robin was now shaking his index finger at her. "You have an amazing command of the English language, Lady Genevieve-"

"Don't you start on my language, you prickless wonder!" She rushed at him, managing to kick him once before stumbling on her dress, the two again on opposing sides of the table. "You aren't God! How dare you decide and pass judgment on anyone!" 

"You know, it's funny," Robin's eyes were darting, his mind working over-time on how he could manage to get out of this room and away from this she-devil. His back was to the window and with his hand behind him, he pushed it ajar. "Tuck has told me that very thing on several occasions. Father Thomas once as well." 

"And maybe you should listen!" 

Hood tried a different tactic. "Lady Genevieve, do you have any idea of the type of man whose roof you are under?" 

Genevieve didn't miss a beat. "One who didn't try to steal my grandmother's crucifix from me or have his minion stick his hand down my blouse to get it!" She was beginning to circle again. "One who rescued me off the path from outlaws like you, took me into his home, fed me, clothed me, sent for a healer and looked the other way for an educated priest who cavorts with outlaws to tend me when a fucking outlaw shot me in the fucking back!"

Robin was getting fed up with being bested by a woman who supposedly didn't know who she was and had the mouth of a sewer. He bent over, so Genevieve would be focused on his face and couldn't see what he was doing beneath the table. Quickly, he grabbed the coil of rope at his waist and began to tie the end to the table leg closest to the window. "And he appears to have made you his mistress which won't do much for your reputation." 

"Don't you judge me! Are you a virgin? Have you never lain with a woman?" Robin shut his mouth with a snap, but stayed bent over. "Don't you give me that double standard shit. My grandmother always said what's good for the ram, is good for the ewe!" She suddenly began flinging the goblets and the water pitcher on the table at the man, his arms flying up to protect his face, the sound of recoiling metal, reverberating off the stone. "You are one wad your daddy should have shot in the coal bucket!" 

He picked up the rope he dropped and tied the other end to an arrow, nocking it before standing up. "Well, your generous benefactor is also a murdering bastard." 

"Yeah, I know!" Genevieve finished for him. She began to flick her fingers. "He's told me."

Robin was dumb-founded. "He's told you?" He cocked a hip. "He told you?" 

Genevieve was furious and on a roll. "Yes, he told me!" 

"How can you live with him? Stand to be under the same roof?" 

For a few blessed seconds, the room was quiet with the exception of both parties labored breathing and then she spoke, her voice softer than it had been during her entire rant, something that gave Hood chills. "This place is cruel, spiteful. You're no better than any of them; certainly no better than Guy! At least in his home, his arms, I am more at peace and protected than anywhere else in this god-forsaken place! I don't understand the politics here, don't pretend to understand them, but a real king would be home, taking care of his people and not off halfway across the world, taxing the hell out of them to pay for someone else's battle. He would at least, the very least, speak their language!" 

The statement infuriated Hood. "For someone who claims to know nothing about it, you certainly do have a strong opinion about England's politics." He raised his arrow and bow.

Genevieve stepped back, thinking he meant to shoot her again. She opened her mouth to scream. "FIRE!" 

"Fire? Wot?" Hood shot his arrow through the now open window, the rope following through. 

"FIRE! FIRE! HELP! FIRE!" There were boot falls in the hallway. 

Robin realized that she was yelling the one thing that would bring anyone within earshot to the door. He jumped on the table, sitting on it and throwing his legs over window sill. Putting his bow on the top of the rope, he edged over the sill. "You know, I was going to offer to rescue you, but I think you and Gisborne deserve each other!" 

"FIRE!!! Help!!!" 

The door knob was rattling, being thrown open, Guy, several other guards, both castle and Guy's personal guards, invading the room. Robin saluted before pushing off the sill and sliding towards the relative safety of the empty side-courtyard. 

Genevieve rushed to the window and began to tug on the rope, making Robin's ride a bumpy one. 

"Turn loose." Genevieve was pushed back, as Guy stepped up and removing the wicked, curved dagger he kept in his belt, quickly sawed through the rope. He looked out to see Robin fall the last few feet, but not enough to injure him. 

Hood turned and touching his brow in a mocking gesture, he yelled up to the tower. "Congratulations, Gisborne. You've found a lady as equally fiendish as yourself! Obviously, not everything that falls from the sky is angelic!" 

"OOOOOH!" Genevieve pushed herself to the window. "YOU CAN KISS MY HAIRY, UNWASHED LILY WHITE ASS!" She turned to Guy. "What does he mean, I fell from the sky?"

The Sheriff was just coming in through the doorway, his mouth a perfect 'o'. Recovering, he himself rushed the opening, pulling Genevieve away. "Get him! GET! HIM!" Robin disappeared around the corner followed by Much and Little John. Vaisey turned to Guy. "Gisborne! Why are you standing there? GO! GET! HIM! IWANTHISHEAD!" Genevieve felt the wind when Guy strode past her, side-stepping the make-shift missiles in the floor, his men following. 

"This is worse than the Keystone Cops," Genevieve muttered to herself.

"Well?" She was jerked back to the present, the sheriff inches from her face. "Well? I thought you said you would torture him, missy! SING! Well?" 

Genevieve inhaled, her blood still boiling. She began singing the most obnoxious song she knew. 

"This is the song that doesn't end-"

"Wot?" 

"It just goes on and on my friend... somebody staaaaaaaarted singing it-"

"Oh, dear God! Kill me now." Vaisey turned away from her, snarling.

"Not knowing what it waaaaaaaaas! And they'll just keep on singing it forever just because, this is the song-"

"Stop. Just stop." He was now at the door.

"That Doesn't EEEEEEEEND! It Just goes on and on..."

For the first time in as long as he could remember, Vaisey, Sheriff of Nottingham, ran away from a woman.

_**~~~...~~~** _

An hour later, Guy sat in his seat at the archery stage, head in his hands. Rodrick was in Genevieve's seat, the rim of a mug of ale, dangling from his finger-tips. Guy's head was ringing from where Vaisey had hit him in the back of it when it was realized that Hood and Company were not in Nottingham and had gotten away yet again. "I do not understand. I simply do not understand how Hood could escape again!"

"'e 'ad help, Guy." Rodrick swallowed the last of the ale. "The townspeople cover fer 'im, jus' by bein' themselves." Guy nodded. How many times had he had Hood in his grasp, to suddenly be surrounded by milling about peasants. The huge knight pointed at the target, where Hood and Michael's arrows were still plunged. "Where there anybody else t' shoot?" 

"No. My man was the next to last." 

"Get this party back 'n t' saddle then." 

"The Sheriff was to present the award after dinner." He looked up at the guard standing just behind his chair. "How long before dinner, Michael?" 

Michael shrugged. He opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by a shrill voice. "Dinner is not for several more hours, my lord." Lord Harringston and his wife presented themselves before the frustrated knight. "We wish to discuss something with you." Lord Harridston pointed at Michael. "About the rudeness of your man. We demand he be punished!" 

Guy was not in the mood to pander to this pompous arse, nor his wife. He realized the Harridston girls were standing behind their mother like ducklings, smug and certain they were going to watch a flogging. He wanted nothing more than to go to Genevieve and see if she had calmed down, find out what Hood had said to her. He pushed back as far as he could in his seat and crossed impossibly long legs out in front of him, propping his booted feet on the banister. He oozed sheer boredom. "What has he done to disturb you?" He began to pick at his cuticles.

This upset their father. Sir Guy wasn't perturbed in the least. Before he could respond, Harridston the Whiner jumped from behind her mother. "He called us a nasty name!"

"Aye!" Her sister, Harridston the Horse-tooth, perked up. "We were standing in the corridor, minding our own business-"

"Not hardly," Michael murmured. 

Guy put a finger up. "I will hear all sides, Michael." 

Lord Harridston pressed his suit. "When your man was taking the woman Genevieve-"

Guy shot the man a most baleful glare. "Lady Genevieve." 

"-this guard called my daughters something unrepeatable." 

"Oh, I am quite sure it can be repeated." He flicked two fingers at Michael, not looking at him, but instead, giving his most bored expression to Harridston's wife and daughters. "Michael, what happened and be quick and specific." 

"When Hood invaded the archery stage, I did as you ordered me and returned Lady Genevieve to her rooms." Guy could tell by the expressions on the women's faces that Michael didn't appear to be concerned. "As we came up the east hallway, we passed both of the lord's daughters. In truth I did not see them until we were passed." 

"And?" 

"Both said something very rude to Lady Genevieve." 

"We did not!" the younger one bowed up. 

"What did they say?" Guy ignored them. 

Michael continued on. "They both stated that they intended to be rid of Lady Genevieve and they would make sure of it. At that point, I said something unrepeatable." 

"Repeat it." Guy still had not broken eye contact with the two girls, noticing that both were now looking rather contrite and antsy.

"I told them they were jealous cunts." 

Rodrick bent over, trying to control his laughter, air hissing from his lungs.

"I am so happy you are amused, Sir Rodrick, but-"

"Shut it!" Guy disrupted the higher lord's beginning tirade, uncaring the man out-ranked him, but barely. Of the Black Brotherhood, he was the lowest, the poorest of the group. Despite Guy's Knight status, his rank as Vaisey's second, as well as his position with Prince John, and as his own personal wealth, which was growing immensely, Sir Guy was in a place to be a very sought after partner in many ways. "Michael, I wish for you to go the kitchen, find the kitchen maid Felicity and have her take a pot of hot tea to Lady Genevieve, as well as a bottle of wine from my portion of the cellar here and two goblets. Tell her to put something calming in the tea; chamomile or something similar. Then go to Locksley, intercept Joffrey and Eleanor. Tell both they are not needed until the morning. If they are most of the way here, tell Eleanor to find Felicity and aid her in the castle until after dinner and Joffrey to take guard duty outside Lady Genevieve's door. As soon as he arrives, you are relieved of duty until Monday. I will accept your tourney prize and ensure you get your share of it by Monday."

Michael tried not to smile as he nodded and turned away. His shift was up within the hour and he had the rest of the weekend off anyway. In other words, his punishment was no punishment. 

Guy waited with a finger up until the sound of the guard's spurs drifted away. Finally-

"Surely, you will do more to punish him, Sir Guy. Flogging, or stocks..."

"I wish to speak to my lady first." The stress on both 'my' and 'lady' were obvious. "If she states your daughters were rude, no I will not." This brought all four up sharply. "I thought to have this conversation with you quietly, my lord, after the festivities, in a quiet room, however I see I will have to have it now." Guy stood up, stretching to his full height, easily dwarfing the family before him. "I am a man of specific peculiar... tastes." Lady Harridston gasped at the implication. "Your daughters do not interest me in the least, as I have come to the conclusion neither one of them suits my needs as Lady Gisborne. If you wish husbands for them, I suggest you talk with Lady Aedyth." 

"The Sheriff of Nottingham said-"

"You know Vaisey," Guy crooned with a slight smile. "He likes to play his little games. The truth is, whom I marry is up to me. Vaisey will confirm that, as will Prince John. I have made my choice and it is neither one of your daughters." The knight now looked harshly at the two girls, both of them shrinking and stepping back under the unforgiving gaze. "Rumors of their unsavory comments towards my lady have been reported to me by several sources. I consider such talk un-ladylike and I will not tolerate it. If they continue, it will make it difficult and expensive to marry them off. Do I make myself clear?" 

Before anyone could respond, Vaisey chose to storm the platform, hands behind his back. He stopped and stared at the group on the platform. "Wot?" 

"My lord, sheriff," Lord Harridston began, "you assured me we would be able to come to terms with your man, Sir Guy, about a marriage between him and one of our daughters." 

"Turned your lepers down, hmm?" Vaisey retorted with a comical sigh. "I discussed this with you during out last gathering, which was long before he brought his little lost lamb to Locksley and truth is, he didn't ask my permission to marry the last leper he fell in lust with and I doubt he'll ask my blessing for this one. He can marry and bed who he pleases. I don't care as long as he enforces my will, which he normally does quite well. Except when it comes to Hood." The man sneered. "He couldn't please Prince John in that regard, either." He turned and began to walk away. "Your lady is a cruel mistress, Gisborne!" he growled as he passed. "I cannot get that stupid song out of my head!" And the man stormed off singing under his breath... "Somebody started singing it not knowing..."

_**~~~...~~~** _

The halls were bustling as Guy entered the castle. Either people heard of his confrontation with the Harridstons or the knight's scowl was fearsome, because most stepped back.

Except Felicity and Eleanor. 

Eleanor was ruddy and wind-blown, smiling. Both serving girls bobbed curtseys before raising up a sundry of items; teapot, cups, goblets, a decanter of wine. With a jerk of his head, the two followed him, Joffrey soon falling into step behind them. 

They soon reached Genevieve's door. Guy knocked once, waiting for a change. 

"Who is it?" 

""Tis me, my lady." Unlike the curt tones he used on everyone else earlier, the voice that drifted through to the chambers was softly-spoken, one of a most caring suitor. "Open the door. I bring gifts." 

The bar was raised, the sound grating on Guy's ears, and the door was flung open quickly. "Those gifts better include walnuts!" 

_Ooooh she is still irate. This might take a while, Gisborne. Have fun!_

Genevieve found her... their... chambers very full in a matter of moments. Eleanor and Felicity setting two trays - one with a teapot and two small mugs, the other with two goblets and a delicate glass carafe, filled with a deep red wine, on the table. Genevieve found herself seated and served the tea while Guy quickly gave orders; something, Genevieve discovered long ago, the man was quite adept at doing. 

"Joffrey, stand guard at the door. We do not wish to be disturbed until dinner, unless the castle is on fire. I do not care who comes calling, I do not care what noises you hear in the hall or from the room. Eleanor, you know the vendor of the walnuts Lady Genevieve is so fond of? Good. Take this and buy as many as it will purchase." He reached into a side pocket beneath his mailed jerkin and withdrew three copper pieces. "Once you have purchased them, go with Felicity to help her ready the hall for the evening meal. Make sure Lady Genevieve and I are together and far from the Harridstons. Place the walnuts by her plate when we arrive for dinner." 

"But Sir Guy, she will need help dressing." 

The Black Knight leaned forward over the little maid servant. Obviously the comment was meant for her ears only, however all in the room heard it. "I undress her enough. I am quite capable of putting her clothes back on." Both Felicity and Eleanor blushed to the roots of their hair. Soon, the room was empty of people, save the couple occupying it. Guy dropped the drop bar and stepped back, perusing the room. 

Not ninety minutes before, the room had looked as if ransacked by a storm, or The Night Watchman, he smirked to himself. Every candlestick, everything on the mantle, the table, had been in the floor. Now, everything was picked up, returned to their place. He spied the poker, bent and most likely unusable now. He picked it up and raised it for a closer look. "Did you hit him with it?" 

"No." Genevieve's voice was sullen. Both of her hands were wrapped around the hot mug of tea. "I tried to stab him with it." 

"Good girl." As he moved into the sunny chamber, he saw the goblets and pitcher of water Genevieve had thrown at Hood, sitting on a small table in the far corner. All were banged up, where they had bounced against man, wall, and floor. On the floor, under the table, was a small trinket box Guy recognized. It was one of many he had given Marian during the early days of his wooing her. As he stooped to pick it up, he saw that it was bent in the corner, the lid no longer fitting snugly. 

_Strange, I remember the box, but not the gift within..._

"Did you hit him with it?" 

Genevieve's nose was back in the little teacup. "Yes. Above the eye. I drew blood." She took another sip. "But I think the damage to the corner was caused by me kicking it after everyone left." Another sip. "I'm sorry. I hope it wasn't valuable or had sentimental value."

"It does not." Guy replaced it on the mantle. _There was a broach. There was a broach in it. The broach that is now pinned to the cloak Genevieve wears._

"I tried to clean up, pick up everything from the floor. I missed that one. I'm sorry." 

"Why are you apologizing?" Guy unstoppered the wine flask and poured two goblets. Taking the tea cup from Genevieve - and noticing it was almost empty - he dragged the little table next to the long chair, set them on it and then sat down. He then pulled Genevieve sideways into his lap between his legs, her legs propped up beside him. "How did Hood get in your room? Did you let him in?" 

"NO! He was here when I arrived."

"And Michael did not see him?" Guy reached for the wine goblets, handing one to Genevieve. 

"No. We were... we had just had a run-in with those detestable sisters." She took a sip. "I'd like to take that poker and clobber both of them, but I fear arguing with them would be like masturbating with a cheese grater." She turned to Guy. "Painfully pointless." 

"What happened?" 

Genevieve had her nose in her wine glass. "It's not worth mentioning."

"But it is worth mentioning." Guy pulled the glass from her hands and held it away from her. "The Harridstons have lodged a formal complaint demanding I flog my guard." 

Genevieve sat up. "Don't you dare! If he hadn't said something, I would have smacked them!" 

"What happened? They have stated their version, Michael has stated his. I rather believe Michael, but I would have your side of it." He handed the goblet back to the woman in his lap. 

"Michael was bringing me down the hall after Hood appeared at the archery contest. The Sisters Shit were standing in a shadowy corner. Truth is we didn't see them until we were passed and wouldn't have noticed them had they not said something." 

"And they said what?" 

Genevieve looked very contrite and rather uncomfortable. "Really Guy. It's childish and it shouldn't bother me, but what they said and what Hood said-"

Guy's heart clenched. _What did Hood say?_ He vaguely recalled telling Genevieve he had destroyed Marian, that he caused her death but... "Tell me what the sisters said and what happened next. We will deal with what Hood said afterwards." 

"They said they would get rid of me and make sure of it." 

"And then what? Did you say something back?" 

Genevieve blanched. "I didn't have a chance. Michael had me around the corner almost immediately." 

"And did Michael say something?" 

Now, she looked cowed. She definitely didn't want to say anything to get Michael in trouble. "Yes." 

"Genevieve," Guy stated with a roll of his eyes, "they have complained about what Michael said and have demanded harsh punishment. You cannot shock me nor can you get Michael in deeper trouble. Simply tell me from your perspective what happened." 

"He called them jealous cunts. I would have called them lame-ass bitches." She looked up with Genevieve puppy-eyes. "Please don't flog him or anything. They were nasty and cruel and if I never see them again, it would be fine with me, but..." her voice trailed off. 

"His punishment was he was sent home an hour early. That is all." With that, he picked her up and after setting her on the floor, led her back to the main area. "Lift your hair." 

Genevieve did as he asked, feeling the cool metal from the amethyst collar slide off. He then pulled the snood from her hair. "Why are you wearing this?" 

"To make it look like I have more hair. Several people have commented on my shorn locks." 

"Ignore them. Your ... what do you call it?... bob has grown on me, although just once, I would like it long enough so I can take it down." He drew her hair to one side and began to unlace her dress. "You are you and I prefer you to stay you." He suddenly switched subjects. "Hood was in your room when you arrived?" 

"Yes." 

"What happened? Turn around." 

Again, Genevieve turned. "He said he wanted to apologize, among other things."

"And?" Her dress began to drift from her shoulders, calloused hands and fingers caressing soft, fragrant skin. 

"I wasn't happy, I assure you that! He claimed he was sorry he shot me, but not sorry he was shooting at you and I just happened to be in the way. In fact, he seemed upset about my reputation as I was in your room and was simply aghast when I stated I was having a good time before he interrupted us! Not that it was any of his business!" She turned to look at him. "He offered to help me escape, twice. Take me to some convent." She turned back towards the front, grumbling. "Like I want to escape. Please. Save me from idiots." 

"So why was everything on the floor? Step out." 

"I threw them at him. I hit him, too. Three times." She began to tick her fingers, while stepping out of her dress, which was puddled neatly in the floor, leaving her in her bra and lacy smalls, (that quite honestly, Isandra charged Guy outrageously for! He was of a mind to complain!) and her crucifix. "His shoulder, his thigh and I clipped him right above the eye." 

"Good girl." Her bra was unhooked and tossed down into the pile of her dress. "So, all the screaming in the hall-"

"I was taught a long time ago if there was an emergency, if I was being attacked, to yell 'fire'. People will run away from 'rape', 'murder', or even 'thief,'" Guy snorted in agreement, "but they will always run to see a fire." 

"That was all?" Fingers were now dancing about the rim of her panties, easing them over her hips. "Genevieve, why do you waste my time and money on such froth?" He didn't tell her had he not paid so much for them, he would have simply ripped them from her body.

"They are to deter you!" She looked over her shoulder at him, bright-eyed. "Besides, they're pretty." She watched as he sank to his knees, her underwear following him to the floor.

Guy snorted. "Deter me. Ha. It is, how you would say, 'so not happening'!" Unexpectedly, he placed his mouth to the curve of her lower cheeks, kisses turning into playful nips. "You have a most bitable arse, m'lady." The nips became firmer.

"Guy! What are you doing?" Genevieve tried to sound outraged, but her giggling gave her away. 

"Something I should have done before we arrived." He smacked one cheek firmly, before kissing it. "That was for language." He popped the other side. "And that was for language I heard when I entered the room. No one will kiss your arse but me, no matter how unwashed or how hairy." He smiled as he stood up to tower over her. "Quite frankly, that sounds disgusting. Perhaps if I ever catch Hood, I will make sure that is part of his punishment." Before she could huff in indignation, he turned her to face him and cupping her cheeks. "I'm going to mark you, my lady. I have told the Harridstons that there will be no union between either of their daughters and myself. The discussion was witnessed by Sir Rodrick and Vaisey, who informed them that I need not seek anyone's blessing to marry. You are mine and I intend to make sure every one in the Hall realizes that you are not a mere mistress or a temporary plaything tonight or ever again." He lowered his mouth, kissing her, inhaling her, his tongue wrecking havoc with her senses. Just as her knees were about to buckle, he turned her loose, kissing the tip of her nose. He walked around her, pushing her towards the bed, before his hands went to his sword belt. "Get in the bed." 

"Guy?" 

"In the bed." She went to the side of the bed and pulled the quilts back. She started to climb up, but Guy shook his head. "No. Climb up from the bottom." His eyes turned deep blue. "On all fours. I want to see you spread."

Genevieve's smile became saucy as she complied with his command. She looked over her shoulder, once she mounted the bed. "Like that?" 

Guy was inhaling through the 'o' of his mouth. "Do it again," he whispered. 

Genevieve turned and slid to the floor. "Are you sure we will not be interrupted?" She crossed her arms. "I would hate to be coming down the final lap and have someone pound on our door or worse, simply charge into the room." 

"The door is barred. I have ordered Eleanor to stay with Felicity until after dinner and Joffrey is standing guard." He wagged his finger towards the bed. "Up on the bed. Now. Again." 

Genevieve repeated his request, this time wiggling her rear as enticement. Guy smirked in appreciation. 

"Nice. Now close the bottom curtains and get beneath the covers, in the middle of the bed." 

Genevieve knit her eyebrows. "But-"

That long, long finger began to move from side to side. "I have given you much leeway as of late, my lady. That is coming to an end now. Close the bottom curtains." 

Genevieve scowled, before yanking them to a close. She sat for a moment. 

"I do not hear you getting beneath the covers, Genevieve." 

She growled, sighed, before bouncing to the top of the bed and sliding down beneath the covers. She made much show and noise putting all the pillows behind her and propping up. 

It was quiet. 

"Guy?" 

Finally, she could hear clothing hitting the floor. First the heavy, mailed jerkin, one boot... the second boot... she heard the laces of his pants being whipped from their eyelets. "I could have helped with that, you know. I like undressing you too!" 

There was a rustling at the curtains. 

"Guy?" 

The curtains at the foot of the bed flew back, as if blown by an evil wind, a hump appearing under the quilts, slowly moving up the mattress, between Genevieve's legs. 

She threw the quilt up. "GUY! What are you doing?" 

Despite the lack of light, she could see his ever-waving finger. "Something I have wanted to do for a long time. Now, put that down!" She immediately dropped the cover, Guy's hands now snaking up her leg, making her squeal and jump in shock. The hands gripped her legs tightly. "Stop that. You may not utter a sound." Again, Genevieve threw the coverlet up to stare at the man between her legs. He nodded at her hands gripping the covers. "Do not make me repeat myself." He waited for her to obey.

The touch at her knees was feather-light, almost ticklish and when he lifted her right leg and placed kisses at the sensitive point at the joint of the back of her knee, Genevieve bit her lip to keep from crying out. The knight nipped, kissed and licked his way up to her juncture, changing legs, keeping her off-balance before finally inhaling the muskiness of her desire.

His nose cut a path between her lower lips, followed by his tongue, cutting a trail from her opening to the top of her mons. He knew her sweet spot, where she needed to be touched, stroked. Long ago, before Genevieve, he often wondered why some women considered the bedroom arts a chore, while others excelled in them. He surmised when he was young that women's needs were diverse and each woman had to be approached differently. 

However, in recent years, he came to the conclusion that many women, needed to be loved and cherished and he did not see a lot of love, much less the art of being cherished, in many of the marriages of court. In some cases, it was a business arrangement, much like what Harridston sought with him this morning. Neither of the man's daughters were in love with Guy, they were in love with being a powerful man's wife.

Not that it mattered to him. He did not desire a business arrangement, never entertained an arranged marriage. He wanted something... more... something...like this. This woman, whose legs were spread before him like a feast, made him feel renewed, made him feel needed, protective...

_Loved. Redeemed._

His mouth surrounded her clit, already swollen and attentive. As his tongue toyed with it, he inserted two, long fingers, searching for that elusive, hard-to-find knot. Genevieve's legs wrapped around his shoulders, Guy's other arm, sliding under her, moving her upwards, almost into a sitting position. This placement seemed to work best for her, made her pleasure more intense, more volatile. He worked her, teased her, ignored his own need, knowing that within a matter of moments, she would-

and did explode, becoming wetter and tasting sweeter in the process.

Removing his fingers, he flattened his hand and gently rubbed all of her in a circular motion, kissing and sucking on the sensitive upper joint of her inner thigh and hip. Since tying her up, they both discovered that a massage of that sensitive woman's area, not only prolonged the orgasm, it eased the over-sensitivity of her erogenous zones as she came down. 

Not to mention, she was ready to make love again sooner. 

"Genevieve?" 

Her response was breathy. "Yes?" 

He continued to stroke, breathing her in. "When I was a little boy, there was a hedgerow behind my house." He planted kisses right at her labia, licking the juices from her. "In the late spring and early summer, it would be covered with honeysuckle and I would sneak about, hide from my mother and suck the honey from the flower stems until I could eat no more and fell asleep in the grass." He licked more, making her squirm.

"That's a sweet memory, Guy." 

"I had forgotten that until now." He took a breath, inhaling the muskiness of her. "You reminded me of that. You remind me of the honeysuckle." Again, he placed his lips at her direct core, his tongue invading her again.

His kisses became sweeter, more tender, as her body relaxed and he moved up, making sure to stop to nibble from time to time, here and there; her belly, her waistline, on each nipple, drawing first one, then the other in and lavishing each one. Genevieve's hand stroked downward, reaching for him as he finally came face to face with the woman in his bed. Tenderly, she grasped him, grasped his full length, placing him, inviting him in. As he rode up and sank into her welcoming heat, both of his hands went beneath her shoulders, Guy automatically caressing when he felt the ridged scar behind her shoulder. His anger at Hood rose yet again; he had lost his home, land, and people to Hood as a young teen, lost Marian to him, and had almost lost Genevieve because of the man. Enough was enough! Swallowing his fury, he lovingly slanted his mouth over Genevieve's, opening her, delving in, taking satisfaction she enjoyed the taste of herself on his mouth, delighting in the fact she enjoyed and welcomed his attentions. For many minutes, they simply rocked, no attempt to go anywhere, simply reveling in the joy of their bed. 

"Tell me again," he whispered in her mouth.

She pulled away, smiling up at him with cat's eyes. "Tell you what?" 

_Oh, tu es une petite allumeuse..._

Guy rolled, taking her with him, settling her on top. His hand dove down, between the crevice of tender flesh he had nipped and bit earlier. Genevieve was becoming used to his teasing the little rosebud and while she didn't admit it to him, he knew by the way she sighed and moved, she was beginning to relax and enjoy his playing and stimulation of it. 

"Tell me. What you said last night." 

Genevieve's hands were placed at his waist, splayed along his ribcage. Slowly, she moved her hands from his waist, to her hips, her waist, up, up, up until she cupped her own breasts, lifting them, playing with the nipples while she undulated on his rod. "Hmmm. I recall telling you that drinking Sir Rodrick under the table and leaving him there wasn't very sporting of you." 

Abruptly, he released her arse, hands moving up her back and pressed her forward, so she leaned directly above him. "I did not give you permission to tease yourself. Feed me." There was heat in Guy's blue eyes, and answering fire in Genevieve's brown ones as she offered her right breast to an eager, hot mouth. For a moment, she feared he would take it in a savage manner, however the care in which he inhaled her from her nipple to her complete rosy areola, pulling on it, caused her to melt. With his free hand, he drew the left from her, pulling it in, close, so both nipples were in his mouth. As he tugged on them, Genevieve's inner sanctum tightened, pulled. She shifted, rose up and quickened the rhythm of their dance.

"I'll bet you were a greedy baby," she breathed. The feelings, the need he created in her was bringing her back to bear down again.

"Hmm mmm." Both of his hands now encased, held her breasts together. Using his teeth to keep her put, he reiterated, "Tell me again, what you said last night. Please." 

Any desire to tease him evaporated with that word. Please. Not an order, or command. 

_Please_

Genevieve leaned over; the thought she might smother him flitting through her mind, finding the shell of his ear. She blew the few curls back that covered it, leaning further.

"I love you." 

Just as swiftly as before, she found herself on her back, her legs slung over his shoulders. He pinned her to the bed, not moving. "Do you really?" 

He had asked her why the night before. "How many times do I have to say it?" 

He searched her eyes, looking for... subterfuge? Lying? She remembered he told her the only reason Marian agreed to marry him was to save her father. He was convinced the woman didn't love him. Maybe because she never said it.

"I love you. Be with me." 

Guy blinked several times, fast. He pulled almost out, before reseating himself. "I lo-" He found her hand covering his mouth. 

"Don't say it unless you really mean it. Don't say it just because. Say it only if you mean it. I can handle it if you don't." 

The smile she received was open, joyous, took ten years from the man's face. Moving within her slowly, he leaned over, found her ear. Her right leg slid down his arm to his elbow, but continued to keep her spread beneath him. Butterfly kisses rained around her ear, making her break out in goosebumps and tighten up. "Je t'aime, Je t'adore, Être avec moi, rester à mes côtés, me marier." He leaned up, moving faster. He took her right hand, moving it between their bodies. "Do it. Bring yourself to me." 

Despite the movement of their dance, the creaking of their bed, the sound of skin joining together, Genevieve found herself, found him-

"Tell me, I want to come with you, sir, tell me when..." 

Her gasp for breath and his roar came almost simultaneously, the world crashing about them. For long moments, she held his head against her neck, reveling in the sheer throb of him within her, hearts thumping together. After time, he let her legs slide down, his body leaving hers. He rolled next to her, pulling her against him, cradling the side of her head in one large palm, and tucking her beneath his chin. Her breath against his damp neck was welcome, treasured. 

"What's that noise?" 

Guy listened, the room now quiet. The window, where Hood escaped earlier, was still open, the wind, chilly. "It is raining." Genevieve snuggled in, tucking herself tighter under his chin. "Say it again." 

"I love you." She inserted both ankles between his calves, entrapping herself within his embrace. "Your turn. Everything you said." 

"Je t'aime, Je t'adore, Être avec moi, rester à mes côtés, me marier." 

"Too fast, I can't figure it all out." 

Guy's heartbeat was starting to return to a normal rhythm, as was Genevieve's. This was different. something he had never felt before with any lover, not even Annie, who loved cuddling afterwards and he allowed it, enjoyed it. But _this_ felt...

"Je t'aime." 

_...right._

"I love you," Genevieve whispered. "Je t'aime." She snickered against his chest. "Sounds funny when I say it." 

"I love hearing you say it. Je t'aime. Je t'adore." 

She thought for a moment. "I adore you." 

Guy nodded. "Être avec moi."

Genevieve's brow furrowed. "Something me. OH! Be with me!" 

"You did not answer the question. Être avec moi." 

"Yes. Oui." 

"Rester à mes côtés."

She was still for a short time, head still tucked under his chin. "Rester... rester..."

"Stay. Stay by my side. Stay with me." 

"Guy, I don't want to go anywhere where you aren't." It was whispered into his skin. "If they won't let me stay, I want you to go with me. We'll figure it out. There has to be a way. It would be so unfair-" 

"Me marier." His finger found her chin, lifting it, forcing her to look at him. His eyes were a deep, deep blue, the pupils so vast, it left the irises to appear more like a sun's corona. "Me marier. Épouse-moi." 

Genevieve was blinking, rapidly. "Me. Me. Marier... Épouse... marier..." 

"Marry me." 

Genevieve's smile was huge. "Really?" 

_Funny, how different this was than the last time I asked someone to marry me. Happier._

"Will you marry me?" 

Guy found himself flat on his back, Genevieve raining kisses, much like the water was currently falling from the sky. "Yes yes yes oui oui!" 

She was bouncing. 

"Genevieve, if you continue this, I will feel the need to make love to you again and I am not sure I am capable." He watched as she slid down back into his embrace, onto his side. "So you will marry me?" Her nod was joyful. "You will not make me wait until the king returns-"

"Why on earth would I want to wait until that man returns to England?" Oh, now she was indignant! "I am NOT inviting him to my wedding, no sirree!" Quickly, she changed tones. "How long do we have to wait?" 

Guy propped up on the pillows Genevieve was supported by not thirty minutes before. Genevieve clung to his side, tucked beneath his arm. "We will have the banns cried as soon as possible. I will make a large donation to Father Thomas and to Kirkley's Monastery to speed the process. Two weeks, I hope." It occurred to him he did not want to marry Genevieve at the little chapel in Locksley, but perhaps this time... 

This time would be different. Genevieve wanted to marry him. 

_Wanted to_

They spent the next half hour, snuggling, relishing the sound of the rain, making plans, making love again. 

"My lady. We have ninety minutes before dinner. Do you wish to continue cuddling and nap or perhaps have a bath?" 

Genevieve turned to snuggle in, her nose catching him in his armpit. She came up sputtering. 

"Bath, bath, oh mah gawd we stink of sex and sweat!" 

Two hours later, his intended dressed in a red gown with a long train and detached sleeves, her hair and neck adorned with rubies, (and two visible love bites) Sir Guy of Gisborne held up the hand of Genevieve, his signet ring placed on her index finger (so it would not fall off) and proudly announced he had found and claimed his future Lady Gisborne. 

Amidst the applause and toasts and well-wishes, Vaisey drank and drank wondering how long before this leper ran away. 

Isabella stared into her plate, furious her brother found love when she had been so cruelly denied; her stomach twisted in an angry knot.

And the Harridston sisters glared, wondering what this woman who spoke funny had over the Black Knight.

_**~~~...~~~** _

The sun had set in Sherwood and was now misted in a consistent rain. Much was cleaning up from dinner, Kate helping him. Allan sat off with Little John, the two of them murmuring about something. Most likely discussing the food and money drop off the next day. With most of the population at the faire to see the joust, it would be an easy run for the gang. Robin showing up to shoot in the contest was a ruse, a cover, for the rest of the gang to rob members of the Black Brotherhood. Sadly, the little round-a-bout with Gisborne's 'lady' cut things short; the group only managed to rob one guest; Harridston, who was most likely the poorest sloth of them all, far below Winchester Junior. According to gossip picked up, the man was trying to marry one of his daughters off to Gisborne and Gisborne was having none of it. Robin found it pathetic that Lord Harridston considered Gisborne a step up for his daughters.

"Something troubles you, Robin." Tuck had the most unnerving way of showing up next to one's side without a person knowing it. 

"Let's take a walk, you and I." Robin turned and grabbed a small hand lantern, handing it to Tuck before grabbing a second one, the two throwing their hoods up to protect them from the rain as they moved out into the forest. After walking for about ten minutes, they found a large oak that could shelter them from the steady downpour. Robin whispered, "Something is not right in Gisborne's household." 

"So you have said, many times, Robin." 

"No, you don't understand." Robin turned to face the friar. "She speaks a language I have never heard before. It sounds like English, but it isn't. And she has an accent I am not familiar with."

Tuck just looked at him. 

"She uses words I have never heard in any language. Fuck. What is 'fuck'? She used it repeatedly and to be honest, I don't think it's a nice or polite word." Tuck continued to remain quiet, listening to the young man's tirade. "She threw things at me; stated she played softball in high school and her specialty was the 'bean ball'. What is 'softball', what is 'high school' and what on earth is a 'bean ball'? She openly admitted to having ... carnal relations with Gisborne-"

"We know she does. Just like you do with Kate." Finally, Tuck caught Robin off guard. "Do not be shocked. We know Kate crawls into your bed at night and not because it is cold. She enjoys your attentions. She seeks comfort and thinks you will eventually fall in love with her and forget about Marian." 

"That's not what I brought you away from everyone to talk about." 

"No, you're right. It isn't." 

Robin took a deep, cleansing breath of the forest air. Off in the distance, riding on the rain, he could smell Much's leftover cooking, as well as the smells of the cook fires outside of Nottingham, drifting on the wind. "Back when you spent the day in Locksley, tending Gisborne's lady, you said several, shocking things. I didn't ask for an explanation, then, but I am now." He turned and faced the friar. "You came back on a mission, went digging through your journals, looking for something, something specific. And when you found it, you were terrified. I have never seen you terrified, Tuck and for a few minutes, you were scared out of your skin. Something in that house frightened you and I would like to know what it is." 

Tuck stared at Robin for a time. _How much to tell? How much to keep secret?_

"She's a witch, isn't she? Not a wise woman like Matilda, but a real witch. She's mesmerized Gisborne, she's going to charm Vaisey and take over." 

"No." 

_He's not ready for the truth. He will be soon, but not this minute. Not all of it._

Tuck cleared his throat. "Lady Genevieve knows who she is. She has not lost her memory at all." 

Robin cocked back on one hip, his lantern dangling from loose fingers. "I knew it! Who is she? Does Gisborne know?" 

"Yes, he does. He is protecting her. The crucifix she wears belonged to her grandmother and is very old." 

"What does that have to do with it?" 

Tuck shook his head. Robin was intelligent, but no, he could not handle the whole truth at this time. Over the past several days, he had poured over his journals, finding out more than he thought or even wanted. "I've seen the cross or its like before. It is quite old. Very old. Right now, it belongs to Lady Genevieve and it should not be taken from her. Its theft will bring a heavenly wrath down like a brimstone shower." He inhaled deeply, trying to decide what to tell Robin and what not to. "She has been hidden away in order to finish work on a very important project. There are very powerful," Tuck almost said 'angels' but stopped himself in time, "people watching over her." 

"And she's with Gisborne? He couldn't protect a speck of dirt!" 

"You misjudge Sir Guy. You know you do. You are blinded by your hate for him." 

"He killed Marian. Lady Genevieve knows he killed her and she doesn't care. That makes her as bad as he is."

Tuck was shaking his head. "She told you she knows he killed Marian. In those words?" 

This brought Robin up. "I told her he was a murdering bastard. She said she knew. He told her." 

"He told her what?" Robin was quiet. "Robin, Sir Guy has openly killed; we know that. He is Nottingham's Master-At-Arms, a Black Knight. It is his job to dispense justice, whether it be the king's, the prince's or the sheriff's. He is as deeply in league with Prince John as he is with the Sheriff. More so with the prince. Allan told me he killed a man who had murdered several people, because he blamed the sheriff for the death of his wife. That's justice. He killed the old bailiff who dispossessed him and his sister and tried to dispossess you. That's justice and even you agreed with the punishment. He killed Kate's brother. That was not justice. Be honest; the boy attacked him. Sir Guy didn't hunt him down, string him up to make a lesson of him. He defended himself." Tuck inhaled. "He is as loyal to his master as Much is to his." 

"He tried to kill the king. Twice. She had some very pointed things to say about King Richard." 

Tuck shrugged. "That would fall under the realm of politics. Richard is King; he has my loyalty. Simply because. But truth be told, England has suffered because he is a king in absentia. He should come home, take care of his people. Of course, there are those who would consider killing Richard justice, if it would mean England's king were in England. If Richard were here, much of the conspiracy to remove him from the throne would be nonexistent." 

It was quiet for a long time while both men contemplated their words. Finally, Robin turned to return to camp. It was cold and the chill promised a cold, cold winter. "Regardless, he is a murdering bastard and he killed Marian. Killing Marian was not 'justice' nor was he defending himself! So-called Lady Genevieve knows what he is and yet she stays and condones it. I will never forgive him. They deserve each other." And with that, he strode back to camp, kicking leaves along the way. 

Tuck waited, waited until the sound died down before turning himself. "Maybe they do deserve each other. But it's not your forgiveness he seeks. And it's not your forgiveness that matters to him or to God." 

And with that, the priest headed back towards camp himself.

_**~~~...~~~** _

_**And if it's true, I'll go there with you.** _

_**~~~...~~~** _

_"Oh, tu es une petite allumeuse."_ \- "Oh, you are a little tease"

 _Être avec moi, rester à mes côtés, me marier._ \- Be with me, stay by my side, marry me.

Genevieve's Saturday Night Engagement Dress

[](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/ZeeDippyVessel/media/Fic%20Artwork/06satdinnerdinner_zpsf32b95fb.jpg.html)  


The Cheese grater comment came from a gift Lurkerwithintent left on my tumblr dash this past week. Thank you! 


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I again want to thank everyone for their reviews and kudos and just for reading. I've finally learned HOW to respond to a review here, but I prefer privately as responding here adds to the list as a 'review hit' which is kind of like cheating, I guess. Either way, thank you, thank you, thank you!

_**Manna from Heaven** _

_**Chapter 26** _

_**...bears all things** _

The morning dawned, over-cast and cloudy. The dew was heavy and a serious chill was in the air. More mist and light rain was under way. Despite the drawn drapes and the fire now blazing merrily in the fireplace, the room was cold and the inhabitant in the bed was wrapped in blankets and furs.

Genevieve awoke, her hand reaching for the empty space next to her, before realizing his side of the bed was cool; he was gone, probably up and dressed before the sun came up. Her head hurt, ached. She had drunk too much wine, joined in the toasting and revelry, congratulations of her...

_Damn the little fishies! I don't remember returning to our room! That was some shindig!_

"Eleanor?" 

_Ooooooomahhayaiyed!_

"Yes ma'am?"

_OUCH! nonono ouch shhhhhhh ouch. Thinking hurts, too!_

"I have a problem." 

"Come to Sir Guy's side of the bed, my lady. 'Tis not as bright." The curtains peeled back, blinding Genevieve temporarily, but yes, not as bright as it would have been on her side, facing the cheery sunroom. "Sit up. I have some mead with Thornton's hangover herbs in it." 

"Bless you." 

Eleanor smiled. "No. Thank Sir Guy." She held her hand out, fingers unrolling. "He also said to give you this." Two Tylenol capsules lay within her palm. "And I'm not to tell anyone about them or he'll personally cut out my tongue." 

Genevieve snatched the goblet and the pills from the girl. "So much for our impending nuptials causing him to mellowing any." Quickly, she threw the gelled caplets into her mouth, chasing them down with the mead. "Make sure you drop several of these in my purse. What time is it?" 

"I am not quite sure," Eleanor waited until Genevieve finished drinking the mead, before taking the goblet. "Sir Guy woke me as he left and said he would be ba-" There was a rap at the door, before it opened, one tall, dark knight entering the chambers. "I believe he's returned." 

"Did I leave?" Guy made his way to the bed, effectively moving Eleanor back towards the wall. He was freshly bathed and shaved, his hair slicked back from his face. "She has had one goblet?" He nodded at Eleanor. "Pour her another."

"Don't fuss at me," Genevieve's eyes were downcast. "I don't remember how much I drank, or leaving, or coming to bed..."

"I should chastise you much like you chastised me yesterday morning, but I have not the heart for it." He lifted her hand, checking the fingers. "There were many toasts in our honor. For what it is worth," he said with a smile, "you left Sir Rodrick passed out under the card table." This caused Genevieve to snort painfully. Guy continued his inspection of Genevieve's fingers. "It appears you are bruised where I bit you yesterday. I am sorry for that." 

Guy lifted the hand and kissed the bruised fingers and knuckles. "I will remember not to suck on your fingers if there is a chance Hood will show up. They did," he waggled his eyebrows, "taste delightful." He dropped her hand. "I will be back in twenty minutes to escort you to breakfast." He bent over to kiss her cheek, sniffing softly. "Your cycle will start today. Be prepared." As he left, Eleanor handed her another goblet with doctored mead. 

They waited until the door shut before Eleanor turned to Genevieve. "What are you wearing today, my lady?" 

Genevieve smiled.

_**~~~...~~~** _

Guy was at a loss for words.

True, he had been forewarned and he knew about Genevieve's surprise, but never in his wildest dreams did he begin to imagine that she would be so bold. 

"Ni-"

"If you say 'nice' and leave it at that," she hissed, "I will throw the most spectacular fit Nottingham has ever seen." 

"After yesterday's exhibition with Hood," Guy murmured, standing over her, "that would be a most difficult feat." He tucked her hair behind her ear. "You are magnificent." 

The dress was black velvet, as was the hooded kirtle. Both pieces were modestly trimmed in gold, the lining in the bell sleeves and hood, yellow. 

Yes, she had most definitely aligned herself with him, before he had asked her to marry him. 

Many kisses later, Guy removed the jet jewelry from the trunk and making sure it was placed properly, escorted her to breakfast. 

As he had the meals before, Guy served her from his plate, choosing what she should eat and quirking when she returned-

"I did not need a good, cleansing bowel movement yesterday morning; I do not need one this morning." The prunes went back to his trencher.

"My lady, your choice of table conversation-"

"Then stop putting that crap on my plate," she retorted before he could finish. "I don't like them, I won't eat them." 

_I do not like green eggs and ham; I do not like them, Sam I am!_

"Gisborne," Vaisey's mouth was full. "Perhaps, if you bought her a ring-" Genevieve held her hand up, Guy's signet displayed prominently on her index finger and waggled them, "a proper ring, perhaps that would sweeten her tongue." He bent over, mumbling, "And it would stop her from discussing disgusting things at the table." 

"Or maybe," Genevieve whispered, "if you would find me some of that wonderfully, black, bitter drink from Byzantine?" She winked. "You did promise..."

Moments later, Genevieve was inhaling the strongest, blackest, thickest coffee she had ever inhaled and bit her tongue to ensure she did not tell Guy that this was almost as good as sex!

"As I recall," Guy whispered in her ear, "you promised to do anything for this drink." 

"Yessssss..." Genevieve's nose was in the small cup. "What wretched, perverted act would you like to do to me?" 

"So glad you are agreeable." He whispered in her ear. Genevieve turned bright red, her cup held in place. She swallowed once. 

" _If_ you are capable tonight." She almost stammered. 

"True that. That might have to wait a week or two. But I will hold you to it." He waited until she began breathing again, before giving her instructions. "Do not come to the joust field until one of my guards brings you." 

"But-"

"I wish for you to find a selection of rings you like." _Pray it is not square, large, with many gems. Those are dangerous weapons in a fight._ "Before the end of the faire, I will purchase a true betrothal ring for you." He leaned in closer. "I spoke with Father Harold, the priest here in Nottingham. He will call the banns here at noon mass, and he sent a messenger to Father Thomas at Locksley, as well as Abbot Matthew at Kirksley to call them during Sunday Mass. I have donated generously to all three chapels, as well as Ripley's Convent, so we should have no problem formalizing our union in two weeks and none will have cause to delay them." 

"Do I get a new dress for the wedding?" Genevieve smiled hopefully.

Genevieve found her knuckles pressed to Guy's lips. "You are pressing my generosity," he murmured. "Remember, you are getting jewelry."

"But-"

"The red dress, with the sparkly beads and low-cut back that you have not worn yet. Wear that." 

"Guy! I can't wear red! Not to my wedding!"

"Why not? I like you in red. It is my favorite color, after black." 

Genevieve realized she was fighting a losing battle and considering the fact she might not have much time with him, she decided to give up. "Why do you want me to wait to come to the joust?" 

"This morning's entertainment," Guy was refilling her cup. The liquid energy was now coursing through Genevieve's veins, "will simply be the obstacle course for the participants. The squires and those not expected to make the final cut will be first. I do not wish for them to take any of your favors." 

"You mean these ribbons in my hair and on my sleeve that Eleanor seemed to think I needed to have quite a few of?" Guy nodded. "And I suppose I should tie them on your lance, when it is presented." 

Guy started to make a crude comment about which lance needed a ribbon, but decided at the last second that might not be a good idea. "The squires are quite pretty and they spend more time seeing who can gather the most favors, rather than focusing on the task ahead. Someone will come and get you a bit before my turn." 

"I'll try to be close to the entrance to the arena later in the morning." 

Guy rose from the table and motioned to Joffrey and another one of his guards. "Genevieve, this is Donald; he will be your personal guard today." Donald nodded once and fell into place behind Genevieve's chair. "Joffrey, come with me." Once again, Guy lingered over Genevieve's hand before bounding up the stairs, spurs echoing in the passage, and heading down the hall. "You are antsy, Joffrey," Guy hissed behind him as the two stormed down the hall. 

"I need t' speak wi' you quietly, Sir Guy." 

"That is what I thought." Joffrey realized they were heading to Guy's and Genevieve's private chambers. As they entered the rooms, Guy shut the door, dropping the bar. "Quickly, what do I need to know." 

Joffrey swallowed once hard. "I've found out 'oo the snitch is. 'oo tol' t'sheriff 'bout Lady Genevieve." Guy looked at him, waiting. 

"Well?" 

"Promise yew'll lemme finish before y'kill 'im." 

"I do not plan on killing him." 

Again Joffrey licked his lips before continuing. "'tis Stuart. 'e got in 'is cups an' spilled 'is guts. 'e didden 'member 'til the sheriff hauled 'im up an' threatened 'im." 

Stuart was the youngest guard Guy had in his company. Mother was a widow, four younger brothers. _Heh. Vaisey terrorizing a teenager. That sounded like Vaisey._ Guy clapped his guard on the shoulder. "Tell Stuart to stop drinking. I am not going to kill him or punish him. Vaisey will find someone new to shake down if I do either. Let him think he has an inside man." Guy unbuckled the top hook of his jerkin. "Listen carefully to me. Have you ever attended a joust?" 

"No sir." The guard was staring at the floor. "Aye 'ear they're dangerous." 

"Very. Old King Henry banned them for good reason." Guy pulled his keys from the thong around his neck. "Listen carefully. As my man, you are responsible for certain things in case something should happen to me." 

"Sir Guy-" 

"Shut it and listen. Genevieve is wearing my signet. That will grant her safe passage immediately for a short time." Taking the keys, he thumbed through them, pulling out one. "This is the key to this trunk." He opened it. "Take the money in the blue pouches and this letter," he held up a piece of strangely lined parchment, "and give it to Genevieve. Do not claim my body. Thornton will do that. Leave here with Genevieve the very moment the situation looks dire, no more than five to ten minutes. Am I clear?" 

"Sir Guy, yer scarin' me-" 

"If something happens to me, you should be very frightened. On second thought," Guy tapped his lip, thoughtfully, "do not give her this letter. There is a small bag in the nook that belongs to her. Put it in it and have her take it. Get her out of here as quickly as possible. The guard on the east gate this afternoon and evening will be William. He has orders to let you out." 

Joffrey was soaking in the information. "Once we leave, then what?" 

"Go to Locksley. Stop through Clun and have Michael the Red join you, if possible. Allow her to take her bag. She keeps it packed, so she will simply need to retrieve it. Rush her. Hurry her. Do not stay more than a few minutes. Find Thornton. He has something for you. When you leave, he has orders to claim my body for burial." 

"Sir Guy?" 

The knight stood up. "I made you a promise if you did something for me. You kept your promise. I am keeping mine. Take Genevieve to Ripleys. Explain to the Abbess she was in my care and my betrothed, and now there is no one to care for her and she is grieving. She needs a quiet place and she must stay hidden. Thornton will give you money to pay the Abbey and a letter from me explaining the situation. Take the money I have for you, take your Rosa if you wish and go west with Sir Rodrick. He will train you. I have his word he will do so." 

Joffrey stared at the parchment, the contents in the trunk. "Sir Guy, Lady Genevieve, she might no' want to leave you-"

"If you have to drag her out, do so. Tell her I have made provisions for her. In case." The two men looked at each other, measuring the other and finding the man sound. "Tell her my last thought, the last words I spoke was of her. Do you understand?" 

"Yessir. Yes, Sir Guy." 

Trumpets from the field outside the walls blared. Guy smirked. 

"Time to get this party started. Shall we?"

_**~~~...~~~  
** _

The faire was busy, noisy. Back in her time, when she had gone to the Renaissance Festival, the vendors were joyous, raucous. These were a bit more… subdued. It was almost as if they were afraid someone, the sheriff, his soldiers, would see them, see what they were making. Genevieve didn’t blame them a bit. If she were a merchant, she would hide some of her wages, anything to keep from handing the majority, if not all over. In all of her life, she hadn’t seen such arrogant greediness as she saw from Vaisey. She strained, trying to remember what she could of the Crusades from her World History class how many years ago? For not the first time, she wished she had paid closer attention, and not flushed it from her brain when the class was over. Who knew she would need that so-called useless knowledge? All she could remember was the Crusades went on for several hundred years and yes, Guy was right – it was Rome’s war.

She knew Richard was taxing the country for the war, incredible high taxes and left his brother John in charge of not only collecting the taxes, but overseeing the well-being of the country, a country that according to Guy, had a king that had not set foot on her soil in years. 

_Some ruler. And these people didn't have the luxury of voting him out of office, much less off the island._

What a mess. For not the first time, she wondered about the intelligence of saying 'yes' to Guy's proposal. If she stayed, would things remain frozen in her time? Would the sale fall through or go through without her? Again she wondered about her employees, her people... they were still her responsibility. 

Of course, if she remained she could quite possibly, with Guy's help, figure out a solution. Maybe they - whoever the elusive 'they' were - would allow him to return with her. Surely, there was a need for broody, moody, dark, twelfth century knights in her world. 

_Security? Body guard? CIA hit man. Oh yeah, sure, that would work._

She wandered aimlessly, admiring cloth, embroidery. She was sure the merchants would think she would be ready to buy up yards of their beautiful material, but the truth was, did she really need more clothes? She didn’t know how long this dream was going to last. 

Or if it even was a dream. At times, it was more of a nightmare.

Maybe she could talk Guy into something special for their wedding. Guy had been more than kind, between the clothing, the loan of the stallion, her… allowance. For some odd reason, the allowance should have pissed her off. Under normal circumstances, it would have pissed her off. Truth was, she didn’t see herself spending much or any of it. 

_Except on those cinnamon walnuts. Speaking of those cinnamon walnuts..._

So deep in her thoughts, she didn’t realize the vendor had called her several times. “Miss? M’lady?” Genevieve looked up from her musings, to see the woman smiling. “Do you like it?” She nodded to whatever trinket Genevieve was holding. “Would you like to try it on?” Genevieve looked down. 

The ring was delicate, the setting, gorgeous. The oval ruby was deep red, the size of her pinky nail and surrounded by what appeared to be matching diamonds. The band was silver, filigreed, and finely crafted. Genevieve recognized the workmanship to be exquisite. Someone had taken a lot of pride in his or her work. She slipped the ring on her finger; the fit was perfect. For a moment or two, she admired it; fell in love with it. “How much is it?”

What the woman whispered was a bit more than Genevieve wanted to spend on herself. Truthfully, she didn’t want to spend any of her money, but the jewelry would take quite a bit of the funds given so generously to her. To spend it all in one spot…

But Guy did say pick something out. For their engagement... their betrothal. They would need wedding bands as well. 

She slid the ring off. “Perhaps later.” She smiled at the woman. “I should bring my betrothed back. Such a big purchase-”

“You should have Gisborne buy it for you, _Lady_ Genevieve. He’s been known to be generous.” Genevieve’s stomach lurched at the sound of the Sheriff’s voice, and she noticed the woman across the table from her turned white. “Surely, you please him enough. Can't go around wearing his signet forever!” The man looked at her, his smile, his very being oily and uncouth. “Unless, that is, if the two of you have had a falling out.” 

"No, we've not had a falling out." 

"Are you sure?" Vaisey was perusing the jewelry, obviously not really interested. "It seemed the two of you were having a rousing argument at the breakfast table this morning." 

Genevieve blinked. "Don't exaggerate! It was a discussion. Nothing more." 

He clucked his tongue. “I believe the castle knows you do not like prunes! Too bad Gisborne is too thick to realize it." The man sighed theatrically. "It would be such a shame if you had a disagreement, especially after he announced your engagement last night. Gisborne does not smile often.” The man sidled up closer to her. “And he does seem to like you.” He nodded at her. "And you so obviously like him." He leaned over and loudly whispered, "Just a warning; Gisborne hasn't slept in the barracks since your arrival. Rumor has it he's kept your bed very warm!" 

Genevieve wanted to slap him, lambaste him, humiliate him, but Guy’s instructions before they left Locksley still reverberated in her ears; _do not speak or engage, unless you have no choice. Give the man as little answer and information as possible._ As much as she wished otherwise, she could see the wisdom in Guy’s words. With a drop-dead stare, she turned her back on him and continued down the aisle between the stalls, looking for her guard, glad she let Eleanor have the day to herself. She looked at nothing, her ‘window-shopping’ over until this… creature… left her side.

It was not to happen.

“I hear the strangest rumors coming from Locksley.”

“Mmm.” 

“We hear you fell from the sky.”

Genevieve rolled her eyes and took the next turn to head back to the castle. “Obviously, your rumor monger is a drunk.”

_Need to talk to Guy. This is the third time, from three people, someone has mentioned I fell from the sky. Guy said I was thrown at him!_

The dolt was keeping up with her. “Aye, he was quite drunk when he first spoke of it, but even sober, he continues to insist you fell through tree branches. Funny,” Vaisey grabbed her arm, none to gently, “when he took us to the spot, there were broken branches up in the tree on one side as if something heavy fell through them.”

She jerked her arm from the vise-like grasp. “Are you insinuating I am fat?” 

For a moment, Vaisey looked stunned, shocked she spoke back, before recuperating. “Oh, la de dah de dah! Are you admitting you fell from the sky?”

“A clue,” she smirked, before twisting her face into a furious scowl. “NO!” Genevieve continued on, approaching the front of the castle. “That would be absurd.” Remembering to pick up her skirts, she lifted them and began the slow climb to the front entry. 

“So one wonders where-”

“I believe,” Genevieve stopped at the top and turned, looking down her oh so not imperial nose at the odious human being, “we discussed that already.” She smiled insincerely. “Fell from the sky, indeed, Sheriff. Next thing is you’ll be hearing rumors that I am the Angel of Death.” Ah, that struck a nerve! Before he could retort, much less catch his breath, Genevieve turned and forced herself to walk calmly through the doors.

“Lepers. The lot of you.” 

Genevieve stopped and turned slowly, fury on her face. Vaisey's smile was evil. _Finally, he had cracked her shell. And Gisborne is no where near to save her!_

"Leper?" The word issued forth slowly, every consonant, every vowel drawn out. "Leper?" With a speed that should have unhinged the sheriff, she turned and flew down the stairs, black skirts billowing behind her, much like an avenging bat. "Well,” she hissed, “I’m not a leper. I am a woman!” She stopped for a moment, trying to catch her breath. “Except when I’m mad. When I’m angry, I am not a woman!”

Vaisey's smile didn't slide a bit. “So missy, what are you when you are fuming?”

She inhaled audibly. “I am a sadistic, demon-spawned pixie sent from hell to eradicate the male gender from this wasteland we call Earth. BUT-” she thrust up one finger in the air, under his nose, “when I’m happy, I bake cookies and stuff.”

A cheer went up from the women who overheard the exchange; men and guards ducked their heads to keep their smiles of the Sheriff's comeuppance from being seen. Not one man who knew Guy was jealous of him, but all quietly thought he had met his match.

"Does this mean when you're angry, you sing?" Inwardly the man shuddered. That stupid song that never ended kept him up half the night! 

Despite her inclination to run and hide, Genevieve leaned forward. "It's a smaaaaaall world, after all... it's a smaaaaaaaall world after all, it's a-"

"Oh, dear God! Stop." 

"-smaaaall world, after all, it's a small, small world."

For the second time in his life, Vaisey ran away from a woman. 

Genevieve started to head to her chambers, but finally her guard caught up to her; reminding her that she needed to head closer to the jousting arena, so she would be easier to find when Sir Guy began his preliminaries. As they headed in the direction, the man - _Donald, his name is Donald_ \- nattered on and on; apparently word coming from the pitch was the field was a muddy mess and several of the younger participants were sliding all over it, making the track slick and dangerous. Twice, the festivities were stopped to add sawdust and clippings to the worst part of the arena. They passed the walnut stand, where Genevieve stocked up on the sweets. No sooner than the bags were handed to her, a guard she did not recognize, but had Guy's yellow feather in his helmet and seemed to know Donald approached her and told her Guy's turn was coming and Lady Aedyth had saved her a good seat. 

Eleanor was waiting, as was Lady Aedyth and her husband. Lady Aedyth saw Genevieve coming and motioned, patting the empty seat front and center next to her. "Here, sit with me, darling. Eleanor, take your mistress's sweets from her until she gets settled." She waited until Genevieve sat and arranged her skirts. It was cool and nippy under the covered seating area and Genevieve was glad for the heavy velvet dress and kirtle. 

Eleanor handed her cinnamon walnuts back to her, smiling prettily when Genevieve handed one small bag back to her. "You liked them too." She turned to Lady Aedyth. "I'm sorry, I don't believe I've met your husband." 

Introductions were made, Genevieve warming immediately to the smiling Lord Reginald. It was obvious he adored his wife, and she, him and Genevieve felt a smattering of jealousy. 

_I want this. I want this, this long with Guy._

"You're not participating in the tourney, my lord?" 

"Oh noooo." Reginald waved her off. "I have done my share of the individual and melee. I have not participated in a lance charge in some years and Sir Rodrick and Sir Guy's competitive reputations in the Individual Joust are well earned.

"Gisborne has a well-earned competitive reputation?" Vaisey sat down next to Genevieve, immediately making her skin crawl. 

"He is a tough opponent," Reginald was watching the arena again. One of the older knights was finishing his round, doing well despite his horse slipping in the mud. "They still speak of his prowess at Prince John's Court." 

"Really?" Vaisey openly sneered. "Gisborne. Not one I would believe as a tough opponent."

"He's your man," Genevieve mumbled under her breath. "You should believe in him."

"What was that?" The sheriff's tone was frosty.

Genevieve tipped the bag of walnuts towards the man. "I said, 'Walnuts? They're really good'."

Before the man could answer, a horse Genevieve recognized stepped on the pitch. Guy's destrier was not armored, nor was Guy, something that made the crowd twitter and whisper. 

"Smart move." 

"Why is that?" Genevieve's hand was down in the little burlap bag.

Lady Aedyth was smiling. "Part of the scoring is speed. By not burdening himself or his horse with heavy equipment he does not need, he's given himself an advantage."

"However, the ground is vicious slick, which is an obstacle no one planned or counted on. " Reginald continued. "He's given his horse a better advantage by not having so much weight. Pray his destrier is sure-footed. Oh look," Aedyth's husband leaned over his wife to address Genevieve. "I hope you have favors ready." Guy was making his way to the grandstand, one long lance in his hand. 

"Lady Aedyth, how do I do this? I've never-"

"Around his arm or his lance." 

Guy stopped in front of the sheriff, nodding curtly to his overlord, before moving on quickly, lowering his lance and tapping the blunt end on the barricade directly in front of Genevieve. She stood up, moving around the lance and pulling a black, velvet ribbon from her hair, tied it around his bicep. As he drew his horse nearer to the balustrade, he leaned closely. "For you, my lady." He tilted his head, Genevieve feeling the heat rush to her face. "You are blushing." 

"Perhaps." She inhaled deeply before whispering back. " You’re my knight in shining armor. Don’t you forget it. I’m going to be right behind you, holding on tight." She patted the firmly wound bow. "Is it too tight?" 

"No." He tapped the lance again on the railing. "My lance needs your favor as well." 

Genevieve crooked her finger, making him lean so only he heard. "Which lance? They are both powerful weapons, indeed." Guy sat back, eyebrows raised, not really surprised her mind was in the same gutter as his. "I do believe you are blushing now, my lord." She reached in her hair and pulled yet another black velvet ribbon, tying it to the base of Guy's lance. 

"I want them all." 

The catcalls and whistles coming from the seating area raised to an ear-splitting level as Genevieve pulled each ribbon, all black, save one yellow, one at a time from her hair and her sleeve, lining them around Guy's arm and his lance. 

By the time she reached her seat, he was gone, starting his trot to the starting line. 

"I believe he likes you a great deal," Aedyth whispered in Genevieve's ear. "For that, I am glad." 

"I like him, as well."

When the round was complete, and points added up, few were surprised that Sir Guy and Sir Rodrick were tied at the top. Some of the Black Brotherhood grumbled loudly about Sir Guy competing at all, considering he laid out and aided in the creation of the course. Obviously, in their minds, he had a distinct and unfair advantage. 

Vaisey informed them that if they felt such, they were free to ride the course themselves. That stopped the grumbling.

Many of the spectators left for the faire to have lunch, but Eleanor and Felicity were dispatched to retrieve lunch for Genevieve, Aedyth, and Reginald. 

"My Lord," Vaisey was showing a small amount of deference to the man. He was not a member of the Black Brotherhood, but it was rumored his loyalties lay with Prince John. Perhaps he would be willing to use his influence... "I understand you have partaken in the joust here and in France, before Richard," he said the king's name as if it were associated with a foul stench, "legalized them here." 

"Yes. I was badly injured in my last one and I promised my lady wife I would decline to participate after that." The man was kissing the woman's knuckles and she was enjoying the attention. "The last thing I wish to do is leave her a widow and at the mercy of unscrupulous men."

"My lieutenant, Sir Guy of Gisborne, put this one together, so I am rather worried about how backwards or ill-conceived it might look."

Both Aedyth and Reginald caught Genevieve's furious look. "Oh, you should be most pleased! He has done quite well. The obstacle course is nothing short of genius," Reginald spoke up, hoping to give Vaisey something positive to say about his man or at the very least, give Sir Guy's Intended a moment to calm down. "By filtering those with less experience out quickly, without the chance of injury, the shortens the time needed, plus gives the younglings necessary training." The man breathed deep, expecting the sheriff to acknowledge his Master-at-Arm's accomplishment. 

It didn't happen.

"Genius? Guy of Gisborne?" Vaisey laughed. "Are we talking about the same knight?' 

"Sir Guy is your most loyal servant!" Genevieve had not been in the best of moods all day and her lower back was aching. Yet again, Guy's nose was right. "I would think you would have more faith in his abilities."

"Most loyal servant, most loyal servant. Where have I heard that before, Lady Genevieve?" Vaisey was laying it thick. "Another leper perhaps?" 

Before she could retort, both Harridston daughters materialized in front of Genevieve's seat. "Congratulations on your upcoming marriage," they both said simultaneously. Genevieve half expected them both to bow and tell her they were at her service. 

"Thank you." It was cautious and Genevieve wondered if it was planned between the two little bulldogs and bastard sitting to her left. Apparently, it was not, as both Vaisey and Isabella vacated their seats of honor and wandered off in different directions. 

"I have come to the conclusion," the one with the horse teeth loudly proclaimed, "that you are very brave, marrying a man like Sir Guy." 

"Better you, than either of us," her younger sister elbowed her sibling with an evil grin. 

Lady Aedyth and her husband sat up, Lord Reginald looking for the girls parents. 

Genevieve smiled, even though the grin did not reach her eyes. "Thank you for your good wishes, however I don't see how being brave or-"

"After hearing what he did to his previous betrothed," Harridston the Younger began to fan herself, "I certainly would not want to be in your slippers!" 

"Or your bed!" Harridston the Elder smugly whispered.

The conversation in that portion of the dais came to a hushed silence, although Genevieve was unaware of it. Between Hood's appearance the day before, the run-in with the two girls the previous evening, Genevieve's hangover and Vaisey's attempted intimation earlier, Genevieve's nerves were stretched taut and the only reason she was staying at this point, was to cheer on the man wearing her ribbons. "Do either of you two little horrors have a name?" With Genevieve's southern accent becoming more pronounced, 'horrors' sounded like 'whores', something both girls bristled at. 

The eldest sneered. "I am Lady Clarae and this is my sister, Lady Marilda. If there is a whore on this platform, it would be yo-"

"Where is your mother?" Lady Aedyth interrupted. 

Clarae's smile was sugary sweet. Genevieve decided if a diabetic was nearby, they would keel over with a stroke. "Why, she is over there," the girl pointed dramatically to a spot higher up on the far side of the stand. 

"She told us to come congratulate Sir Guy's intended." 

"Well then," Genevieve's friend continued, clearly disgusted with the display, "your insincere good wishes have been received. Now go back and tell her I said your deportment and manners are lacking." Both drew up from the harsh words coming from a well-known, high-ranking, and respected lady. 

Being clearly dismissed, they stepped back, grabbing their skirts, when Clarae snidely remarked, "I still think you must be very brave, especially since Lady Marian left him at the altar,-"

"I heard she struck him, left a cut next to his eye," Marilda touched the spot on her own face, where she thought it might have been. 

"No wonder he murdered her. Ran her through with his sword, I hea-"

_**CRACK!** _

Clarae, stepped back further, tears springing to her eyes, hand to her reddened cheek, where Lady Aedyth slapped her. Marilda stood to her sister's side, with the back of her hand to her mouth. Before either could inhale, their parents rushed to their sides. 

"How dare you strike-"

"How dare you," Aedyth interrupted the woman smoothly, without a hint of anger in her voice, "bring such ill-bred, ill-mannered, spoiled brats to an event and even begin to attempt to marry them off?" Both adults began to sputter, but Aedyth wasn't finished. "Last night, your husband begged me for a list of available, well-placed unmarried knights and lords who were looking for wives and went as far as to request I recommend your daughters to them. I would not foist either of your miscreants on my worst enemy." With Harridston jaws still flapping silently in the wind, the stately lady sat back down, arranging her skirts after she crossed her legs. "In fact, if I were you, I would leave immediately and put the both of them back in the nursery until they learned some manners!" 

Genevieve was staring out into the arena, being set up for the individual joust. The muscle in her jaw was ticking. As the group turned to leave, she spoke up, "I understand Sir Guy's guard, who was with me yesterday, called the two of you 'jealous cunts'." 

"You know he did," Marilda hissed. "You were there." 

Genevieve nodded, her focus still on the mud in front of her. "True. True." She never moved her head, her eyes, her hands, white knuckled grip tight on the arm rests of her seat. Something out there had her attention. "You are. Both of you. Add 'hateful, lying bitches' to it as well. Oh," now she turned to look at them, a dark look that would have made Guy proud, "and malicious skanks." 

Eleanor and Felicity arrived with food and drink, both of them sensing furious electricity in the air. Eleanor stepped up behind the lady who was so kind to her, while Felicity took the food - wrapped toasted bread stuffed with roast and hot cheese - to Lord Reginald, who seemed completely unflustered.

The two girls began to cry, fingers pointing, completely lacking in self-control. As the noise rose, Lord Reginald passed two of the meat pies to his wife and shook his head. "Sweet Jesu! Why are the lot of you still here? Have you not embarrassed yourselves and your parents enough?" He took a bite of his meal before waving them off, continuing with a full mouth. "Begone, before you make me lose my appetite. I would lock my daughters in a tower if they behaved like yours." 

"And you love them." Aedyth passed the third pie to Genevieve.

"Worship the ground they walk on," he mumbled, trying to work his tongue and words around the hot food in his mouth. "Like I do their mother." 

Eventually, the group removed themselves, leaving the arena, the atmosphere returning to normal. Genevieve was shaking. Blinking rapidly and trembling, she spread the linen square on her lap and placing her lunch on it, opened the money pouch tied under her kirtle and palmed two Tylenol from it. Taking the rough-hewn mug from Eleanor, she waited until it appeared the small group was not paying attention to her. Eleanor realized that Genevieve was trying to take the brightly colored capsules that Sir Guy didn't want anyone to know about. Walking around to Lord Reginald's chair, she questioned if the lord or lady needed anything before the joust began. While the two had their attention on the young maid on their end of the row, Genevieve cautiously brought her hand to her mouth, both gel caps between her fingers and swallowed them with a gulp of whatever sour, lukewarm mash was in her goblet and it made her shudder and her stomach roll. As people returned to their seats, including Vaisey and Isabella, who sat on his other side, Genevieve's breathing returned to normal. 

"It's not true," she whispered. "Not true at all! I don't believe a word of it. Liars, the both of them!" Genevieve almost choked on her food, unaware the two servants were staring at each other in dismay. "He loved her. Loved her! He still cries out to her ghost in his nightmares!"

_Forgive me... forgive me... kill me now, please... I am lost..._

There was a pat on her hand. "Are you a-right, Genevieve?" Aedyth was concerned and as Genevieve looked at her benefactress, she noticed her husband was looking at her kindly as well.

_Pardonnez-moi... Pardonnez-moi... Tuez-moi, s'il vous plaît... Je suis perdu..._

"I'm... sorry. I... didn't handle that well. Thank you for being here." 

"I don't blame you. I wouldn't have handled it well either had that vitriol been aimed at me." The woman continued to pat her hand. "No one faults you."

"Faults who?" Vaisey interrupted. "What did you do, missy?" The tone was sharp, accusatory. 

"She did nothing," Lord Reginald explained. "My wife sent the Harridstons packing."

"Wot?" Vaisey sat up, enraged, Isabella now leaning close. _What on earth did that trollop her brother asked to be his wife do?_

"The Harridston children accosted Lady Genevieve over her engagement with Sir Guy," Aedyth explained blandly. "They were wretchedly jealous and I sent them home with their parents. They are not fit for polite company." 

"Neither is Gisborne," Vaisey grunted, "but I put up with him." 

"Wretched beasts," Genevieve mumbled under her breath. She turned and caught Vaisey's eye. "Lepers. Both of them." 

The Sheriff stared at her for a moment, an evil smile spreading across his face. After a moment, he began to chuckle before breaking out into a laugh so vile, it made those who heard it, shiver. "Oh, La de dah de dah, Lady Genevieve! I believe we have come to an understanding."

_**~~~...~~~** _

_**The devil, already, he knows me so well** _

_**~~~...~~~** _

_tbc_


	28. 27 - Believes...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you all for reading.

_**Manna from Heaven** _

_**Chapter 27** _

_**Believes...  
** _

[ ](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/ZeeDippyVessel/media/Fic%20Artwork/tumblr_mxpa4qEOzH1sjybkuo1_500_zps95c45fb0.jpg.html)

By the final round, Genevieve was a nervous wreck.

The joust was an abbreviated Plaisance Tournament. If they ran out of time, Vaisey announced, the competition would continue Monday, but things had progressed smoothly and quickly. Twelve opponents; the field had been extremely tight, ten down, two left.

Sir Rodrick versus Sir Guy. 

Vaisey was shocked. So was Isabella. Neither one considered the knight as anything beyond a henchman. 

Genevieve had 'witnessed' jousts at the faires she attended in her time, cheering on the most gallant knight in the play - and yes, she knew it was staged. 

She did, on occasion, cheer for the bad knight. She summed it up to a secret, youthful yearning for bad boys. 

_Well chickiepoo, you certainly have a bad boy on your plate now, don'cha? What you gonna do about this mess you've gotten yourself into? Hmmm?_

This was brutal. 

She watched in horror at the carnage, not understanding the need for...

_Points for knocking your opponent off his horse. Points for shattering your lance. Points for a direct hit to your opponent's shield. That is where you aim. Automatic disqualification if you hit your opponent anywhere, but the shield; automatic disqualification if you hit an opponent's horse.  
_  
The combatants wore chain mail and beaten helmets without protective visors, no body armor. Genevieve caught herself before blurting _'Where is their armor?'_ It probably hadn't been invented or developed yet. There was no protective barrier between the combatants. The two adversaries simply charged each other. 

Simun de Langetoft took lance shards directly in the face. Word came from the tents that splinters had to be removed from his chin and missed his eye. Barely. Someone else said he was spitting wood chips.

Gregory de Semar' made it to the final four, a favorite of several of the Black Brotherhood, only to find himself painfully pitched to the turf all three passes by Sir Guy. The man had to be helped from the field that third time. Genevieve wondered if Guy had been more determined to hurt his fellow Black Knight as Sir Gregory made her extremely uncomfortable the night before, leering down at her and making several rude, drunken comments about taking Guy's place if his bride-to-be proved to be too spirited. He then compared wedding nights to 'breaking in pretty little palfreys, a contrast that infuriated Genevieve. Guy responded by putting his arm around Genevieve, tucking her in behind him and letting Sir Gregory know that he did not need help nor did he consider his betrothed a horse.

For the first time in her life, Genevieve felt protected. And she felt a certain, smug satisfaction when it took two of the man's knights to guide him from the field. That last fall had been a doozy! His head was probably still rattling around in his helmet like a pinball in a pinball machine! But she noticed that Guy was favoring his left shoulder, badly. 

Eudorne filius Hugonis had to be carried off the field. No word if he had regained consciousness. 

Guy had shattered several lances. After the first one, she saw Joffrey pick up the hand-hold where her ribbons were still tied. They made their way to Guy's other bicep, with the exception of the yellow one and one black one, which were tied to the back of his helm.

The wait between the last two competitors dragged. 

"What are we waiting for?" Vaisey was bouncing. "One more. There's one more. We have time. There is still light! No need to wait until Monday!" 

"Unless one or both combatants are exhausted," Lord Reginald spat. Vaisey was beyond getting on the placid man's nerves by this point. 

"There is still daylight! The evening meal is being held up... wait. Is that Gisborne's man?" 

Sure enough, Joffrey came trotting up the field. The grass was long gone, replaced by mud that in some places was a least a foot deep. It had caused a lot of mishaps among many of the contestants; two had fallen off before they reached the middle of the field. Lady Aedyth had whispered one of the worst things that could happen was for the horse to fall and pin his rider. Genevieve noticed how the woman's white-knuckled hand grasped her husband's, who smiled at her in reassurance. 

"What? What happened?" Vaisey was yelling at Joffrey, who was trying hard not to retreat. "What about Gisborne's horse?" 

Genevieve's ears perked at the mention of her fiancé's name. "Guy?" She lifted up from her seat and stepped forward, getting Joffrey's attention. "What about Guy's horse?" 

The man sighed with relief, happy to speak to someone who wouldn't take his head off. "Sir Guy's destrier pulled a ligament in 'is back leg an' is favorin' it. Attemptin' to ride 'im would put Sir Guy at a serious disadvantage-"

"Not to mention the damage it would do to Féond." Guy's heavily muscled warhorse was named well - Fiend - the horse nipping and snorting at anyone, including his owner at times. "What's being done?" she continued. "Will he withdraw? Ride him anyway?" 

"Withdraw?" Vaisey squealed like a girl, causing Genevieve to roll her eyes at the theatrics. "He can't withdraw! You tell him to saddle his horse up or both of them will be served for dinner!" 

Joffrey was shaking his head. "He's no' withdrawin'. 'e's havin' another 'orse saddled up and armored. No' long." 

Genevieve was confused. "He has another horse?" Joffrey nodded affirmatively. "How bad is Féond?" 

"No' bad, but Sir Guy don' wanna push it. Y'know 'ow 'e is wit' 'is 'orses. " With that, the man turned and trotted back towards the gate. 

Eleanor and Felicity were sent for refreshments, the word of the delay spreading through the stands. Genevieve broke down and rushed to the privies, holding her breath. That was _one_ thing she hadn't gotten used to; primitive toilets! She and Val had a lot to talk about, next time her office manager came to visit. 

The two serving girls were returning just as Genevieve found her seat. Squires and pages had brought out the lances, setting them against the fence, readying everything. Fresh sawdust and hay was strewn on the field, an attempt to dry out the mud. Everyone was just getting settled when the trumpets announced the final contest was finally ready. Sir Rodrick came through the gate, cantering to the far side of the arena. He dwarfed his warhorse, who was nonetheless the tallest equine Genevieve had ever seen. He had no speed, whatsoever, but what the horse lacked in swiftness, he made up for with blunt force. Sir Reginald likened the brute to a thick, mortared wall. Genevieve then began to scan the gate, watching for Guy.

"No." It was whispered, gasped, and few heard her. Certainly, not Vaisey, thank God. Lady Aedyth turned in concern. "Please. No." 

"Genevieve? Is something amiss?" 

"Nice charger!" Lord Reginald was obviously impressed. "That fine piece of horse flesh most certainly cost Sir Guy a pretty bit of gold!" 

His wife smacked him on the hand. "Genevieve? Is something wrong?" 

"That's Zeus," she continued to whisper. "It's my horse. He's riding my horse." 

Of course, Zeus _wasn't_ hers, but that was beside the point. Today, she had seen men and horses take several serious injuries. The desire to stand up, yell _'Enough!'_ and call it a day, was over-powering. At this moment, she wanted nothing more than to pull Guy off _her_ horse, haul him to their quiet, private chambers at Locksley and shut the world away. 

But that was not going to happen. 

After a nod from Sir Rodrick, Guy took Zeus on a practice run around the arena, allowing the lighter stallion to feel the mud, get used to the armor, the rider. Guy returned to his starting spot and held his hand out for his lance. 

"Lord Reginald," Genevieve began shakily, trying to wrap her mind around this new situation. "Please refresh my memory. What is a 'charger'?" 

Lord Reginald was engrossed at the drama that was beginning on the field and was not fully aware that Genevieve was growing alarmed and that his wife was reaching to take hold of the woman's hand. "Sir Guy's original stallion is a destrier; a cold-blooded warhorse, as is Sir Rodrick's. Destriers are large, bulkier and lend added weight to a charge. Considering their size, I see why Sir Guy and Sir Rodrick prefer destriers. They are better suited for their riders." 

"Cold-blooded," Genevieve murmured, not realizing that Vaisey was listening intently to the conversation. "Draught animals for pulling wagons and heavy loads." Her smile was a side-ghost of Guy's. "Not very delicate." 

Lord Reginald nodded in agreement. "True. Chargers, on the other hand," he continued, "are lighter, warm-blooded. What Sir Guy is going to lose in heaviness, he will gain in speed. That horse is sure-footed and more agile. He'll have him half-way down the field before Sir Rodrick's horse takes his first step. Sir Guy should be able to guide him with his knees, rather than the reins."

Lord Reginald's comment made Genevieve think. Zeus was wicked fast and, yes, extremely agile, responding to the barest of touches and weight shifts. But at the same time, Sir Rodrick's horse reminded Genevieve of a modern day Clydesdale; huge with feathered hooves. Before she could dwell on it any longer, the signal was blown. 

As Lord Reginald suggested, Guy and Zeus were tearing down the field before Sir Rodrick and his mount had taken a step. Guy slid into an offensive pose, his lance in his right hand lowered into a ramming position across his body, his shield buckled to his left shoulder and bicep, allowing him to hold his reins in his left, mailed fist. Zeus was the surer foot of the horses, mud flying up, splattering both horse and rider. The two knights made contact on Rodrick's side of the arena, both hits so hard, the sheer sound of the contact making Genevieve's teeth jar. Both combatants swayed, Genevieve fearing her knight would fall from his saddle. At least, Rodrick was leaning as well. Both lances snapped in two and both received points for making contact on their opponent's shield. 

Both horses circled, turning to face each other, despite the fact neither of their riders appeared to have recuperated from their first charge, much less being capable of making another run. Guy didn't look at his lance; simply held it out to Joffrey, who had shadowed his lord during his run, much like Sir Rodrick's man had. Guy's first round had been the third pairing, so Joffrey spent the previous two match-ups watching them and learning, putting into practice and seeing first hand what Guy had taught him in the practice sessions leading up to the joust. The old lance was exchanged for a new one and the pair on horseback lined up again. 

As he had the first time, Guy was well on his way when the signal sounded, taking advantage of his heavier and slower opponent. Again, mud was being sprayed, landing on poor Joffrey who tried his best to keep up with Sir Guy in the mud, as well as Sir Guy's legs and torso. The two knights again slammed into each other on Sir Rodrick's side of the arena. 

Rodrick's lance shattered, cheers raising from his men, while Guy's did not; however, Guy hit Rodrick's shield with such velocity, it pitched his opponent backwards and then up and forward. As Sir Rodrick left his saddle, his well-trained destrier braked to an immediate halt, vaulting the huge man over his head and into the mud in front of him. As Guy completed his pass, he turned and pointed in Rodrick's direction, sending Joffrey to check on the man. 

For what seemed forever, Rodrick lay in the mud, but by the time Joffrey reached him, he was getting up, waving off not only Joffrey, but his own man as well. Laughing, he shot a filthy hand gesture to Guy, who laughed at it as well. He remounted his horse and trotted back to his starting point. 

New lances were retrieved for both men. Vaisey was jumping up and down in his seat with excitement. Wonder upon wonders, his second-in-command wasn't such an embarrassment after all. Sure, the man had his uses, but at times...

The official who called the start, raised his arm...

_**~~~...~~~** _

"Sir Rodrick?" Guy was grasping his lance, getting a better hold on it. Throwing his friend to the ground was quite the feat and Guy made a mental note to make sure he bought more than a few of Rodrick's drinks tonight. He rolled his left shoulder. Damn, he would definitely be black and blue by the time they sat dinner. His left arm felt like it was bouncing around in its socket. Perhaps, he and Genevieve would have dinner in their rooms, rather than in the Hall. He didn't think he could stomach Sir Gregory, not after he openly oogled Genevieve and upset her with his comments the night before. Normally, he liked the man well-enough and truth be told, he was enjoying being among peers as an equal and not thrust and kept in a subservient place with Vaisey. Perhaps now, Vaisey would realize...

 _Bah. Vaisey would never realize that his own shite stank._ But this made Guy realize and remember that Prince John _knew_ who Guy of Gisborne was and was confident-

"Zeus is doin' well, my lord." Joffrey was checking and retightening the cinches of the saddle. "I knew yew 'ad trained wit' 'im-"

"I should work with him more, I know," Guy interrupted. The horse was antsy, prancing about, making it difficult for Guy to get a firm hold of the lance. It had been the one drawback with Zeus that Guy noticed; the horse was energetic and sure-footed, but the stallion had a difficult time containing its excitement. This was not a problem, simply a behavior that needed to be addressed and one Guy had not taken the time to do. He would find the time when this was over. 

Joffrey lowered his head, blushing. He watched as Guy rolled his left shoulder again. "Yew shuld 'ave that arm checked after this. Yer favorin' it." 

Guy shifted in his saddle, his lance now in a firm grip. "I will definitely allow a physician to look at it when this is over." He looked over to the Master-of-Ceremonies, Sir Robert of Redforde, the man raising his hand to begin the third and final charge. If Guy could unseat Rodrick again, he would win the competition - he held no delusions he would be allowed to keep the prize - and perhaps Vaisey would give him a few days respite...

The hand dropped.

Guy again took advantage of his horse's swiftness, compared to the larger warhorse of his opponent. He heard nothing as he charged down the field, everything to him, strangely silent, although he knew the stands were really a cacophony of noise. They were a blur, the knowledge of Genevieve seated in the front, sitting in the back of his head, but not seen or focused on. 

_You're my knight... you're my knight..._

By the fourth step of his horse, Guy realized that his shield was not quite sitting right. Rolling it up hurt. Sweat dripped down his helm and over his nose.

Just before impact, Guy had a sneaking suspicion, that he was in trouble.

_**~~~...~~~** _

The last pass was the slowest for Genevieve. Time dragged; the two horses taking forever to meet at the center. Most in the stands were on their feet and when it was over, she wished they had been on their feet in front of her so she wouldn't have seen the collision. Vaisey was up, screaming, jumping up and down. Isabella was also standing, her hands clenched, screaming, but for who?

Both lances were in position, both knights grips were firm. Guy had been favoring that shoulder - Genevieve saw it and feared Sir Rodrick had as well. 

Zeus was having a difficult time settling down before the trot; he was jittery, which was unusual. Genevieve hoped he calmed down when he began that last run.

_**~~~...~~~** _

Both horses were settled into their rhythm as they approached each other. So intent were the two knights on each other, neither realized the spot they were going to collide in was a quagmire.

And it was worse on Guy's side.

The sound of the impact was deafening. The two lances made positive contact, Sir Rodrick's hitting him directly at the top his shield, connecting painfully where Guy's shoulder hurt the worst, before it shattered, shards and splinters flying at Guy's face. He automatically closed his eyes and turned his head away, hoping to miss the majority of the flying wood.

Guy's lance bent, but before it could snap, Zeus' footing slipped. throwing both horse and rider off-kilter. Guy was thrust sideways, his left shoulder on fire. He dropped the lance, attempting to aid his horse in righting himself, seeing Joffrey running at his side. Despite his efforts, Zeus went down, in the mud, taking Guy with him. The world tilted and as Guy hit the sludge, head first on his left shoulder, he heard a wretched 'pop', pain exploding behind his eyes. 

The last thing he saw before everything went black was Zeus falling on him.

_**~~~...~~~** _

When Gisborne went down, every breath in the stand was held. Even Vaisey was quiet for some moments before he began to yell. "Get up, Gisborne! Get your lazy arse up!"

Genevieve was stunned into silence still, her hand clenched around her chair arm. There was a sigh of relief when Zeus bounced up and bolted to a far corner of the arena, dancing in a nervous circle, where one of the stable boys from Vaisey's barn attempted to grab his reins. 

"He's not coming up, Aedyth," Genevieve whispered. She pushed herself from her seat to get a better view. "He's not coming up." 

Sir Rodrick, Harold, Rodrick's lead knight, and Joffrey were leaning over Guy's prone body.

The stadium went silent, watching the scene on the pitch, unfolding still. At Sir Rodrick's frantic invitation, a fourth man jogged onto the field, not seeming to worry, much less care, about the amount of mud he was stepping in. 

"Get up, Gisborne! Get back on your-"

"Shut up!" Genevieve wasn't paying attention who she was yelling at or insulting. "He's hurt! Who is that?" She pointed to the fourth man making his way to the center of the arena. 

"That's Sir Rodrick's personal physician," Lord Reginald was leaning over his wife. 

"Physician?" Vaisey snapped. "What's wrong with mine?" 

"He's a quack!" Genevieve spat back. "He'd probably put... leeches on him!" 

"Sir Rodrick's physician's specialty would be battle injuries, m'lord sheriff." Aedyth attempt to put a calming hand on the younger woman's arm.

A deep, primal scream rose from the huddle in the mud. 

"That's it! Excuse me." Genevieve stepped down, crossing in front of Lady Aedyth. 

A hand grabbed her as she passed. "Where are you going?" 

Genevieve looked back and forth between Lady Aedyth and Lord Reginald. "I'm going to Guy-"

"Wait."

"NO! I'm not going to wa-"

"He's up." 

True. Guy was now standing, his right hand holding his left arm close to his chest. With the chain mail and padding and helmet, it was hard to tell what damage was done, but Genevieve could tell by the way he stood, Guy was in serious pain. Looking past the noble couple in front of her, Genevieve's eyes searched the group immediately behind the chairs. "Donald!" The guard quickly presented himself. "Do you know where Sir Guy's joust tent is at?" 

"They'll take 'im to the healer's tent, m'lady."

"You know where that is?" On Donald's nod, Genevieve spoke quickly. "Take me to the healer's tent. Eleanor, Felicity," she turned to the two servants, "Sir Guy and I will be eating in my chambers tonight, if he is capable. Make sure there is plenty of mead and clean drinking water and make sure our meals are sent there and the room is ready. Plan for the worst. Donald?" 

"Lady Genevieve," Lord Reginald's voice, while soft, held much authority. "You will be in the way and your betrothed might not appreciate nor want your presence." 

The rebuke set her aback for a moment, Vaisey and Isabella's attention riveted to the drama unfolding next to them. "Almost two weeks ago, Robin Hood shot me in the back with an arrow. Sir Guy sat with me for some days, administering to me personally. Until he sends me away, I would be at his side because that's where I belong." She nodded to the man in deference, seeing his wife's approving smile. "Just like he stayed by mine. Donald? Lead the way." 

The group watched as the petite woman followed her assigned guard, waiting until she left the platform before settling back in their seats. The horses were off the field and the knights and their entourages slowly making their way through the muck. "Well," Vaisey remarked loudly to the air, "Gisborne's little lost lamb has teeth." He reached over and plucked the forgotten walnuts from her seat, dipping in and removing several of the nuts, popping them into his mouth. "Sharp ones." He smiled maliciously at the woman next to him. "Are you ready to have her as a sister-in-law?" 

Isabella snatched the walnuts from Vaisey. "At least she will have the right to wear the Gisborne jewels around her neck." She settled back with the sweets. "And she'll keep him occupied and out of my hair." 

"With her distracting him, she gives you power," Vaisey snorted. "And power is everything!" Suddenly, it occurred to him he was missing the most important bit of information. "Wait! Who won?"

_**~~~...~~~** _

Entering the compound of brightly colored tents, Genevieve probably would have found the healer's tent on her own, simply by following the moans and groans and Guy's swearing. For someone who did not like _her_ gutter mouth, the man certainly knew how to peel the paint from the building! Someone's knight decided to make a crude comment to her as she made her way through the paths; Genevieve put him in his place very quickly, Donald backing her up.

The physician's tent was plain, close to the front of the entrance of the arena. Genevieve ducked in, much to the protestation of Donald, who feared not only angry testosterone, although he wouldn't know that's what it was; he also feared, for the lack of better term...

...lack of clothing. Genevieve could have cared less. 

Eudorne was sitting up, drinking something that was steaming. His eyes had a wild, glazed look and he didn't appear to be very focused. He was sitting in his small-clothes.

Gregory de Semar' stood in the corner, wearing nothing but his laced braises. Bruising was obvious where Guy had beaten him and he was favoring his lower back, moving very slowly. If he blamed Guy for his injuries, he didn't show it, instead showed concern for his fellow knight, who was obviously in a great deal of pain. 

And fully mailed and clothed.

Genevieve found Sir Rodrick. "Where can I sit or stand and help?" 

"Geneviiiiiiiiive..."

"Don't you start!" Her tone caused Sir Rodrick to step back and the man, who Genevieve assumed was the physician, to raise his eyebrows. "You didn't leave me when I was hurt and needed you. I'm not leaving you! Why, in God's name, is your helmet still on?" She reached over and gently pulled it off, handing it off to Donald. 

"You," Guy gritted between his teeth, obviously in a world of hurt, "were a whiney baby, who swore you were going to die and haunt Hood, when he shot you." He inhaled heavily, ignoring the sharp gasps from the men in the tent. "You were a pain in my posterior!" 

"You're right," she agreed. "I was a wretched patient. Now is your chance to pay me back." She turned to the man she assumed was physician. "You are?" 

"This be my personal physician, Alric." Sir Rodrick set a stool down in front of her, at Guy's right knee, taking her hand while she settled. "We need to get his chain mail and padded gambeson off." 

"She talks funny," the physician, Alric, whispered.

"Aye, tha' she do, but Gisborne likes 'er that way." He continued in a stage whisper. "Rumor be she's frum the Far East, frum one o' those no-mad-ic tribes." He nodded sagely. 

Guy clutched his left arm closer to his chest and began to growl. 

"OOOH!" Genevieve cooed, ignoring those standing. "Who's the whiney baby now?" The populace in the tent waited while Guy finished howling. 

"If Sir Guy is finished being strong for his wee lass," the physician was now standing behind the seated knight, "we need to get him stripped so I can assess his condition." He looked at Genevieve. "Normally, I would suggest the lady leave, however, I think perhaps she is tougher than her knight." 

"Not on your life!" Genevieve retorted with a smile. "Guy is right; I'm the weakling!" She reached up and took his right hand. "It's your left shoulder, hmm?" Guy nodded. "Let's start on your right side and work it so we move that shoulder as little as possible." 

"Genevieve," Guy now sounded exhausted. "You do not have to stay for this." That familiar side smile was shaky. "I will be rather cranky." 

"I'm crankier," she whispered. "Your nose doesn't lie. Besides, what did I tell you when I was tying my favors all over your arm?"

"I am your knight." His voice was weaker, softer.

"That's right. You are my knight. I won't leave you."

A goblet materialized in front of Genevieve. "If you will aid in getting this down him, it will help ease his pain."

"What is it?" Genevieve took the chalice, swirling it beneath her nose. She immediately recognized it. "Opium in the mead?" 

"A wee bit. Don't want him limp. There is turmeric, as well for the swelling." 

She lifted it to Guy's mouth. "Your turn to get dippy!" 

Once the contents of the goblet were drained, it took several men, including Sir Gregory, with Genevieve working from between the layers, to lift and remove Guy's mail from his right side, working it gently over his left shoulder and arm, moving his shoulder as little as possible. This left Guy in a heavily padded shirt. At least it tied up the sides and at the shoulders, and was easier to remove. This left him in a tightly fitted black long sleeve shirt. Hearing the physician whisper to Roderick, Genevieve leaned back, to take a closer look. 

Guy had not been a model patient thus far, snapping and cursing at everyone and growling at Genevieve, who simply blinked at him. But when she pulled back to look, she saw immediately why he was in pain. 

"How bad is it?"

The physician stood with his mouth cupped in his hand. "I need to get his shirt off, but it is as I suspected."

"You didn't answer my question. I need a very sharp knife," she told no one in particular.

"Knife? Why?" Guy was wheezing at this point. 

"To get your shirt off." Genevieve's knee was bouncing. "I am no physician, but I think your shoulder is dislocated." 

A knife was produced and Genevieve made short work of slicing the garment from Guy's body. The knight was starting to list to the right. "This comes out of the wedding budget."

"That's fine." Genevieve was moving further to the right, holding his hand and keeping Guy from keeling over. "I'll marry you in the pig sty if it's your desire." His injury was turning her stomach. The ball was completely out of the socket and she couldn't begin to fathom how much pain Guy was in. 

"Sir Rodrick," the physician was a serious, short, generously proportioned man and completely unimpressed by the amount of hormonal tough man males surrounding him. This was his element, he was in charge and no one gainsaid him. "If you will brace yourself behind him and hold him in place, so I can put this arm back in the joint and pray the bone is not cracked." The men positioned themselves. "Lady... Genevieve? If you'll get his attention. This will hurt, but he'll feel much better quickly and the pain he's in will be relieved."

"You've done this before?" 

"Many times, my lady. As long as the socket isn't cracked, he'll be right as rain in about two moons." 

"Guy?" Pain-glazed eyes took a moment to focus on hers. "They're going to put your arm back in the socket. It's going to hurt, but the pain will be gone really fast, okay?" She had his right hand in both of hers. "You can yell at me all you want, I'm not leaving you, I won't take it personally, just don't move and-"

"GISBORNE!!! GISBORNE!!!" The tent flap flew open, Vaisey storming in, his fur cloak streaming behind him. He came up short when he saw Sir Rodrick bracing Guy's back. "Sir Rodrick." He stopped and straightened in an attempt to look taller. "Congratulations. You have been declared the winner of the joust. Gisborne," he sneered at his knight, "came in second, so Sir Rodrick wins the Golden Slipper." 

"Can you step back, please?" Alric obviously could care less who the sheriff was. "You're blocking my light. Inhale, Sir Guy. This is going to hurt you a hell of a lot more than it's going to hurt me." With a push and an audible 'pop', the doctor shoved Guy's shoulder back into its socket, eliciting a painful scream from his patient. 

"Oh, sod it, Gisborne! You're screaming like a ba-" Vaisey found himself pushed back by the portly physician. 

"I _said_ you were blocking my light. If you do not back up, move away, and stop upsetting my patient, I'm going to have you removed from this tent!" 

Vaisey puffed up. "Do you have any idea who I am?" 

"A pompous arse who is still blocking my light!" 

Genevieve had her head down, trying not to laugh. She was shocked to feel Guy's hand caress the top of her head. She looked up to see the man grinning lopsidedly at her. "Feel better?" 

"Relieved." His forehead tapped hers. "Thank you for refusing to leave." 

"I'm going to hover like mother hen."

"I will let you."

By this time, Vaisey had stepped to the side, furious that this strange physician was successfully giving orders in his presence. "I simply came down to inform Sir Rodrick he had won-" the word 'won' was painfully gritted between his teeth, "and that he would be awarded the Golden Slipper at dinner."

"Excuse me," Sir Rodrick was still propping Guy up, " but kin we talk 'boot this fer a moment?"

"Discuss? What is there to discuss?" 

"Well, 'boot this 'Golden Slipper,' trophy... Gisborne, kin ye sit wit'owt me at yer back?"

Guy was definitely feeling less and less pain. "Oh, I am good." He lurched against Genevieve as Rodrick stepped around towards Vaisey. 

"See, aye be thinkin' that as lovely as this Golden Slipper might be, aye might no' be able t'survive takin' it across England, wit'owt bein' accosted an' robbed. So, I be thinkin' 'boot an al-tern-a-tive prize."

Vaisey looked at the man, shrewdly. "What _kind_ of alternative prize?" 

Rodrick rubbed his chin, thoughtfully. "Well, truth bein' me last squire were knighted a few months back." He turned to look at a tilted Guy. "Gisborne! Yew were there!" 

"Sure was!" Guy tried to sit up, but didn't do a good job. Only Genevieve holding on to him, kept him from falling off his stool. "Boy drinks like you!" He leaned over to Genevieve and whispered loudly. "Right under the table!" 

Rodrick shook his head in disgust. "Wot aye be sayin' is aye be needin' a new squire. Preferably, a yung one, that aye kin keep around fer a while."

"A young squire? Sure. I'm sure we have a few young ones to choose from." Vaisey was ecstatic. He'd have no problem trading a snot-nosed brat for that golden trophy he did not want to give up. And yes, he was contemplating having a few guards dress in woodland attire and rob the knight to get it back. "Gisborne will know which one of the stable boys would be of use."

"Know one, already," Guy was on the verge of slurring and he was definitely leaning heavily on Genevieve. He gave her a lop-sided grin. "Gen'veeve. T'walls are spinnin'." 

"I know the feeling," Genevieve whispered back. She gazed about, catching Joffrey's attention. "Go to my chambers and have Eleanor retrieve a loose shirt for Sir Guy, as well as get a hot bath prepared and have food sent to our room." The man dismissed and off running, she turned her attention to the physician. "He is muddy and sweaty and there is no way he is getting in the bed and resting while he's like that!" The physician nodded once hard, in agreement. "Do we need to bind him up or immobilize his arm?" 

Vaisey took one disgusted look at his disabled henchman and rubbing his hands together, addressed Sir Rodrick. "So, a squire in lieu of the trophy. Done and done. Anything else?" 

"One thing." Sir Rodrick's response made Vaisey's premature smile fade. "Alric, wot is Sir Guy's prognosis?" 

Alric looked up from his pile of pre-cut bandages, white cotton strips, hanging from his hands. "Sir Guy is recuperating from a dislocated shoulder." 

"You popped it back in," Vaisey smiled snidely. "It's good as new." 

"Not quite." Rodrick's physician did not like the sheriff, had hoped he wouldn't have to deal with the sheriff, and now that he had to, was determined not to let the little man roll over him. He handed the bandages to Genevieve. Taking the sheriff's arm, he pulled it away from his body. "Let me explain. At the top of his arm, and yours, is a joint." He now grabbed Vaisey's shoulder. "In that joint is a ball made of bone. It's why you can move your arm in so many different directions. It rests in a cup or socket." 

"Get your hands off of me." 

Alric shrugged. "Suit yourself." Dropping the sheriff's arm, he then put a fist in the cup of his hand. "During the joust, the ball," he raised his fist, "was pulled out of the socket. The joint isn't made to do that. There are muscles, sinews, tendons set in place to make sure that doesn't happen. The injury pulling it out was painful, and damaging, not only to the bone, but to the muscle as well, but the blunt trauma Sir Rodrick and I used to replace it, was more painful. The pain is reduced, but the muscle and sinew holding the ball inside the socket has been grievously injured and this moment, is throbbing and swelling."

"And this has what to do with you, Sir Rodrick?" 

"It means wot yer mon needs t'rest. It means, 'e kinna ride, traipsin' awl over Sherwood, lookin' fer an outlaw, participatin' in battles or sword-fightin' or chasin' idiots." 

Vaisey was livid. "You mean I have to coddle him?" 

"Aye culd still take tha' golden trophy, ye 'ave." 

The sheriff's eyes were bulging. "So, how long must I baby him?" 

The physician snorted. "You won't need to baby him." He nodded in Guy's direction. "His lady will baby him plenty. He needs rest. If he or she have a store of medicines or herbs, I can concoct a few things for him to help him rest, get the swelling down, relieve his pain."

"We have his mother's alchemist chest." Genevieve suddenly found every eye on her. "She was a well-known healer." 

"I'll follow you to the chambers where he will stay." Alric returned his attention to Vaisey. "It will take a good eight weeks before he returns to normal, but he should recuperate. Until then, he should take it easy, especially this first week or two. Plenty of rest. The shoulder and arm will need to be bound and immobilized-"

"Eight weeks?" Vaisey was spitting like an angry cat. "How am I supposed to manage the security of my castle and Nottinghamshire for eight weeks without my Master-at-Arms?" 

"He managed it while you were gone; believe me he'll figure out a way to manage the next few weeks!" Genevieve was not going to let the man push Guy into returning before he was ready. 

"Shhhh." Guy was slowly shaking his head negatively. He squeezed her hand with his good one, a non-verbal reminder of their agreement. 

"What? What did she say?" 

Alric stepped between Vaisey and Guy. "Your man simply needs several days of rest. Right now, everything is swollen and tender. He should be able to resume light duties in a week or two. With the winter coming on, most people will be busy storing up food and wood for the winter."

"Food? Wood?" Vaisey was livid. "I could care less about the townspeople preparing. I have taxes to transport, messages to get to Prince John-"

"Well then," Rodrick interrupted. "Aye suppose aye culd stay w'me men an extra week or tew an' 'elp owt." He shrugged good-naturedly. "Get t'know me new squire. Sample 'is mum's cookin'." With this, he leered at Genevieve, making her blush, "Aye might wrangle an invite t'Gisborne's weddin'. Kiss t'bride, even!" He changed gears smoothly. "Then agin, if tha' be insufficient, I culd jus' take t'Golden slipper an'-"

"Nononono! You can stay! Give Gisborne his one or two weeks!" 

"Good!" Alric had taken the cotton strips and was binding Guy's arm and shoulder tightly, so it would be immobile. "That way I can keep an eye on this particular patient. Do not worry," he whispered loudly to Genevieve, "I will still allow you to fuss over him!" 

"I plan to anyway!" she simpered, with a smile. 

Suddenly, Vaisey was standing over her, bending down into her face, his fingers digging into her chin. "You watch yourself, Missy! I didn't take his last leper's lip and I will not take yours!" 

"I... will deal with her, my lord." Guy's voice, while shaky, held authority and Vaisey watched in satisfaction as Genevieve wilted. 

"How, Gisborne? The last one ran rough-shod all over you and you were at full-strength then." He jerked up, both hands behind his back. "I have no qualms putting her in her place if you won't!" With that, the man turned on his heel and strode from the tent. 

Before anyone could comment, Genevieve put her finger up, listening for the sound of the man storming away. Finally...

"Well, aren't you just a fun-filled little lollipop tripled dipped in psycho?" 

Most of what she said went by or over the heads of the men in the tent, but the physician clapped her on the shoulder. "If that idiot gets out of hand with her," he addressed Rodrick, "she comes with us." 

"No." Guy was sitting up a bit straighter. "I have made provisions for her if I cannot... protect her." 

Before Genevieve could ask him what he meant, the tent flap flew open again. It was Donald, with one of Guy's over-sized poet shirts.

_**~~~...~~~** _

An hour later, or it felt like an hour later to Guy, he was naked and settled in a hot bath in the small room in his and Genevieve's chamber. What little bit of pain killer he had been given to reset his shoulder was worn off and he was being a right bear! From this moment, there would be no charade of where he was sleeping, no getting up early and bathing down in the barracks, no waiting until the castle settled down for the evening before coming to the room. He was here, she was here, if anyone wished to gossip, fine. It would not be the first time people whispered about him. But he did worry that it would damage Genevieve.

Eleanor had the bath steaming and full when they arrived with the entourage of the physician, Donald, Joffrey and Sir Rodrick. The little maid also had food and drink waiting for the couple and was sent to spend the evening with Felicity, with orders not to return until the morning. 

While Joffrey and Donald got Guy stripped down for the tub - with Guy growling and cursing and Rodrick egging him on - the physician and Genevieve went through the alchemist's chest that belonged to Guy's mother. 

"You've a fine array of healer's herbs and oils as any physician I know. Including me." He picked up the turmeric, inspecting the label. "Do you read?"

"I am educated," Genevieve gritted. 

"So you understand French?" He turned the bottle around, showing the neatly printed label. Curcuma. "This is turmeric. It is good for swelling and joint pain. I will make this up for you, not only for him to drink-"

"IT TASTES LIKE SHITE!" 

"Thank you for your input, Sir Guy, but if I mix it up, you will take it," the man responded nonchalantly. "If I have to shove it up his arse," he whispered to Genevieve, causing her to giggle. 

"I HEARD THAT!" There was splashing and more cursing. "GET OFF ME! I DO NOT NEED HELP GETTING INTO THE DAMN TUB! GET OUT ALL OF YOU! BEGONE! OUT! GENEVIEVE!" Genevieve looked up to see Guy standing stark naked - and obviously unashamed of it - with the exception of the binding holding his arm and shoulder to his chest. "Get them out of here! I only desire your help!" He turned and stormed back into the bathing chamber. "My legs are fine!" 

"You are in for a long night, m'lady." 

"I think I'm up to his shenanigans," Genevieve smirked. "It's that time of the month for me. I'm equally crabby," Genevieve admitted.

Quickly, Alric removed a crude dropper from his satchel, showed her how to measure the opium for Guy's pain and suggested she add some chamomile and willow bark as well. He cautioned her about being careful to not give him too much opium and to not experiment with anything else in the alchemist's chest. He pulled several bottles from the chest. One at a time, he handed her vials. "Eucalyptus, chamomile, menthol, ah..." he held up another small container, "Orange! That will help soothe his irritability-"

"Get! Out! Joffrey, if you touch me again, I will rescind everything I promised!" 

Alric tapped the small container of orange oil. "Put a lot of that in his bath."

"GENEVIEVE!" 

He cringed. "A lot. In fact," he added, "pour the entire bottle in his bath and put a few drops more opium in his tea or mead. Water the wine while he is taking the opium. Good luck, tonight." He patted her hand. "You'll need it. He is as mean as the caged bear I saw at a faire when I was a boy. Send a guard or your maid if you need me. I will be staying with Sir Rodrick." Swiftly, he gathered up the men in the chambers and making arrangements to make sure a guard stood outside the door, left Genevieve with her very grouchy patient. 

It was quiet in the bathing area and it took a few trips to take everything in. Following the doctor's instructions, she handed Guy the goblet, and then unstoppered the various oils and began to pour them into the tub, stirring the top of the water as she went.

"Wot is this, wot are you doin'?" The knight sounded exhausted, hurting. "This wine tastes like-"

"It's magic wine. Drink up." Genevieve poured an extra dollop of orange essence into the tub. 

Guy held the goblet in his right fingertips, the chalice dangling precariously. His left arm and shoulder was in a tight sling - the physician had shown Genevieve how to change it if it got wet - and he watched Genevieve through hooded eyes. "I need a massage." 

Genevieve focused on adding more menthol oil to the tub, relishing the cleansing explosion of scents. "I am terrified to touch your shoulder right now. You're starting to swell-"

"What I want you to massage is supposed to swell." 

Genevieve propped both arms on the edge of the tub. "No." 

Guy brought the cup to his lips. "You did not just tell me 'no'." 

"Yes, I did. I'll say it again. No." Genevieve was no longer looking at him, instead focusing on the swirls she was making in the water. "If I massage you in that fashion, with all the pain killers and muscle relaxers in your wine, you will probably stay limp and then both of us will be extremely frustrated-"

His head drifted backwards, staring at the ceiling. "Heh. Frustrated." Genevieve continued. 

"You've been injured, you're putting some seriously trippy drugs in yo-"

"Trippy drugs?" His nose went back into the goblet. "What is this strange language you speak?" 

"Same language I've always spoken! Yeah. Trippy! You are going to see straaange things." Guy snorted, his nose going deeper into the chalice. "You will get sleeeeepy; verrrrry sleepy!" 

"I am hungry and would like to eat before I go... trippy." 

Genevieve smirked and rose, going to the no longer sunny portion of the chamber and retrieved the cooling trencher Eleanor brought up. The man insisted she feed him by hand and by the time he finished eating, she was upset.

_What that man does with his tongue..._  
  
To keep her mind off the things his tongue was doing to her fingers, she talked, she chattered; the faire, the merchants, she found several rings to her liking, her run-in with Vaisey-

"He said wot?" 

"He said I fell from the sky. Said there were broken branches and accused me of being fat. Asshole." 

"I need to heal, so I can discipline you properly." 

Genevieve leaned forward and hissed, "I recall vividly you said someone threw me at you." The trencher was now empty of meat and cheese, so she set it down. Moving behind the man, she quickly peeled out of her clothing, upset about the amount of mud on the hem of the velvet from her journey into and out of the tent city. Her slippers were ruined! Sitting down behind him in a thin, cotton chemise, she urged him to move forward and lean his head back. Pouring water over his long hair, and trying to keep the binding on his shoulder dry, she tipped her shampoo bottle into the roots and began to work the filthy suds through his locks. "That man called me a leper. Insinuated you and I had had a fight, a falling out."

"I distinctly recall telling you not to banter with him. You did so when we arrived and you continue-"

"It's kind of hard to ignore him when he's chasing you through the vendors' stalls. Or sitting next to you at the joust. Tip your head as far back as you can." He did so, his Adam's apple bobbing in sheathed anger. She lathered him up again. "He belittles you at every opportunity! Everything you do! I don't understand why you attached yourself to him to begin with or why you stay with him! He's disgusting!" 

Guy exhaled, gloried in the feel of her fingers over his scalp and through his hair. "I was nineteen, full of anger and longing to show my grand-père that I was someone of worth, of importance. Vaisey was my only way to position and standing."

"You wanted your lands back. Your title." Heavy strands of black, wet silk cascaded through her fingers, the dirt and sweat flowing into the cooling water. Gently avoiding his left shoulder, Genevieve began to gently work and wash the muscles of Guy's back and right shoulder. "You wanted what was stolen from you. I understand that." She continued to chatter, her words sinking deeper in the man's thoughts than she realized. She enjoyed watching him interact with his peers, his fellow knights as equals, not subservient to a madman. She didn't see him smile with smug satisfaction when she told him how the other lords - especially Lord Reginald - praised his efforts to create and manage a cleanly run joust. She grumbled about Vaisey, how he needled her, angered her. In the back of Guy's ever fogging mind-

_Tripping... tripping..._

-he was alarmed, worried that as long as he was injured, laid up, he could not protect her, shield her from Vaisey. His wanderings were jerked back to the present, in this closet, that served so many purposes.

"-those sisters! If Lady Aedyth hadn't slapped the one, I would have! I would have knocked her to the mud and followed her." There was now laughter in her voice. "I'm sure the knights and lords would have appreciated a little modern day women's mud wrestling!" 

"Lady Aedyth struck one of the Harridston sisters?" Guy was struggling to maintain some semblance of consciousness-

_not tripping. wait... wait... NOT tripping... not yet..._

"Yes. They were making all sorts of wretched accusation, all under the guise of congratulating us on our upcoming wedding. Lady Aedyth sent them home!" She leaned forward and whispered in his ear; why, he'd never know as no one was in the chambers with them. "Lord Reginald told their parents they needed to be locked in a tower!" 

Guy was focusing on a brick on the far side of the room. "Why did Lady Aedyth strike one of the sisters?"

"You will not believe what that bitch said! I was in shock! Is there no depth or even pride-"

A chill, not caused by the drugs, seized Guy about the heart. "Why did Lady Aedyth strike one of the sisters?" 

"Promise you will not come up out of the bath and challenge Lord Harridston." 

"I am in no condition to challenge anyone at this time. Why did Lady Aedyth strike one of the sisters? This is the fourth time I asked and I tire of repeating myself!" 

Genevieve lifted her hands from Guy's back. "One of the sisters claimed you... you..."

"I what?" 

Genevieve hung her head shamefully. "She said you killed Marian; said you... with your broadsword." Guy reached up and wiggled his fingers for her hand over his right shoulder. Once she placed her fingers in his hand, she continued. "I don't believe it. It's a lie, a horrible, wretched lie. Jealous bitches!"

Guy squeezed her hand in reassurance, his back to her, so she didn't see the single tear that trickled down his cheek. _So finally. 'Tis out._ He listened for a while, listen to her ramble on, the names, her fury, her insistence she knew, knew, they were lying...

"Genevieve." 

"I told them Michael was right. They are jealous cunts!" 

"Genevieve." 

"I told them they were lying bitches and-"

"Genevieve." 

"-and... and... vicious skanks. How dare they claim that, say that outright lie out loud? " 

"Genevieve, look at me."

"It's not true! You loved her. You cry to her ghost almost every night and I wonder if I can even compete-"

Grasping her hand and pulling it to his face, she felt the moisture there, stopping her tirade, wondering was it water from the bath or...

"We need to talk." 

"Guy?" 

"'Tis not a lie." Guy looked over his shoulder at her, immense pain evident on his face. "I told you I would not lie to you, that I would tell you the truth. Always. We need to talk."

  
[](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/ZeeDippyVessel/media/Fic%20Artwork/tumblr_mxp9y2gHvd1sjybkuo1_500_zps3d298ddc.jpg.html)

_**~~~...~~~** _

_**everyone knows I am going to hell.** _

_**~~~...~~~** _


	29. Chapter 28 - ... all things

_**Manna from Heaven** _

_**Chapter 28** _

_**... all things** _

"I killed her, Genevieve. 'Tis not a lie. I killed her."

Genevieve blinked hard. "No, this is the opium talking." She had a vague recollection of saying strange things to Friar Tuck when she was -

_Skiiiiiiesssss are bluuuuuuuuuue..._

\- taking opium when Hood shot her. "You're confused, you've got your facts mixed up, your mind is playing tricks, you feel responsible for whatever happened, you-"

"Genevieve. Come here." He waved drunkenly, motioned her to come around. He waited until she complied, settling on the stool. Through the haze, he enjoyed the view of the damp white cloth clinging to Genevieve's body, her breasts. "Remember when I told you, you would hear things, horrible things about me. Some would be lies-"

"Most would be the truth."

"Aye. Most would be the truth." Guy was having a difficult time enunciating, keeping his thoughts straight. His tongue was sticking to the roof of his mouth. "And this is truth." With his good hand, he reached out and grasped hers, bringing it to his lips. "I do not wish to hurt you. I love you." 

"I know." 

"But I love... I loved her. I do not expect you to understand-”

“Explain. Please.” Ruthless, angry, power-driven… that was the Guy she knew. But there was that tender, gentle lover. Genevieve knew he loved deeply. He wasn’t capable of… couldn’t… not to _Her_ …

Guy leaned forward; his features hidden by a curtain of hair. “I have not discussed this with anyone.”

“Discuss?” she hissed. “What’s to discuss?”

He shook his head, his right hand turning hers loose, grasping, motioning over his heart.

_Ah. The Emotions. No, he wouldn’t discuss what he was feeling._

"I loved her. I would have done anything for her." Once it began, words poured out of his mouth, some mumbled, jumbled together. Genevieve had to lean forward, listen so very carefully.

“She was everything to me. I loved her much, but she had none for me. She used me at her convenience and after promising me twice she would willingly give me her hand in marriage, she left me at the altar and taunted me with the fact she never loved me and intended on marrying my enemy – an outlaw. She openly preferred an outlaw to me.” The last part was ground out and in the grit, Genevieve could hear the anger, the intense pain in his voice. "She promised to marry me if I would kill Vaisey. Hours later... she said we... never were..."

_Such a wounded ego._

He inhaled deeply, his eyes in the rafters, blinking rapidly. “She used me in order to feed information to Hood. After everything I did to protect her, keep her safe. I risked my life for her, many times. She knew I risked my life. I chose to die with her when she would not leave Nottingham at its lowest hour!” Those beautiful blue eyes now turned stormy gray. “England needs a king, not a crusader who does not speak our language, off in the Holy Lands fighting the Pope's war! Henry openly wanted John to rule England to begin with!" He stopped for a moment, trying to find his words in the ceiling. "Vaisey should have never dragged her to the Holy Land-"

"Why on earth was she there?"

Guy was still staring at the ceiling, as if to desperate see if the right words were written, a ghost, anything in the beams. "Prince John and Vaisey have an agreement; a well-known agreement, even known to the outlaws and to Marian." He took a deep, shaky breath. "If he should die an unnatural death, John will annihilate Nottingham and the surrounding countryside to the ground, killing every inhabitant in Nottingham-shire."

Genevieve's hand went to her mouth, her earliest conversation with Eleanor coming back. 

_'Nottingham was under siege because the Sheriff disappeared. Prince John’s men were to raze it to the ground and kill everyone inside. Because Sir Guy is a Black Knight, he was to be allowed to depart the castle, but he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t leave Lady Marian...said his world would turn to ash...'_

"She knew it. Hood knew it. But she tried to kill the Sheriff anyway, despite the repercussions. She was caught and Vaisey dragged her to the Holy Land. Hood followed and decided to personally tell the King that John was trying to usurp the throne with the help of the Black Brotherhood. I could not stop it. I could not stop him." Slowly, his eyes lowered, from ceiling to floor, a darkness spreading over his face. "Believe me when I tell you, I hate Vaisey; I would kill him myself, but it would not mean the death of every innocent in this place." He was now breathing heavily through his nose. "One minute, I was on the opposite end of the courtyard, preparing to kill the king; the next… she was between me and the king, told me she would not allow me to... she loved Hood. There was never an us... she lied to me... she was going to marry Hood... told me I would have to go through her... my sword… I killed her.” Guy’s stare was unwavering, but Genevieve could see him shaking. “I just wanted her to shut it! That is all! For her to move out of my way. I do not even remember..." His voice trailed off, caught in an unholy, nightmarish memory. Now, to Genevieve, it came to light; the cause and the reason behind his wretched nightmares, his restlessness. "I will never forgive myself. I can never forgive myself! I yearn for death.” 

"That's why you cry for her forgiveness every night. That's why Hood hates you."

_They have both stolen something dear from each other..._

"Some nights," Guy dragged his good hand across his face, his nose, "she mocks me. There are days she haunts me as I walk the halls. As of late, she begs me to forgive her, claims she drove me to this wretched place in hell." He inhaled, his sinuses raging along with the fire in his shoulder. "I hate me. How can I forgive myself? I want to die. I begged Hood to kill me; he refused. Told me to live here and rot." He began to laugh, mirthlessly. "I prayed for peace and they sent me you, but you probably hate me now, as well."

Inwardly, Genevieve was horrified at what he told her.

_Dear Lord please, how to I deal with this? How can I forgive… how can HE forgive himself? How does he get up in the morning and go through a normal day? A routine? Does he even deserve forgiveness?_

_He went insane after she was murdered. Raged like a lunatic..._

For the first time in longer than Genevieve could remember, her grandmother’s voice rang clear in her head.

_Do not judge, Genevieve Faith. Everyone needs forgiveness. Everyone needs understanding. Have you walked in his boots?_

_I have done horrible, evil things and I do not know how to atone for them._

Guy was pulling away from her, silence damning both of them. She caught his hand, pulling it back, drawing him back to her. “Please don’t leave. Please do not leave me.”

For him, he relished the contact, was relieved she hadn’t cursed him, gotten up and left him. He fully expected her to reject him, shun him. He deserved it, but for some strange reason, that little…spark… humanity… he felt for Marian, was a full, raging fire with this woman who spoke with such a strange tongue and had stranger ideas of what women could do and should do and behave. She made him feel human, as if his life had a purpose and a reason beyond this wretched bed he’d made for himself…

To somehow rise above all of this. For not the first time, he wished he had had other choices, made other decisions, not gone to the Holy Land, had ever met Marian. For not the first time, he wished he could go back in time, erase the cruel and evil things he had done. He wished he'd realized Marian _didn’t_ love him, accepted the fact he couldn’t _make_ her love him. He wanted to find a way to re-earn Genevieve’s trust. 

He almost wished he had found a decent husband for Isabella, not the demon she claimed he married her to. Almost. She had been devious as a child; it had been a relief to find someone to want her. The man hadn't seemed awful.

_Someone who would feed her, house her, take care of her, better than he could. Stupid woman._

“He called me a leper.” Genevieve’s words cut through his reverie. 

“What?” Guy knew who. He didn’t have to ask; only one person-

“The Sheriff. Vaisey. He called me a leper.”

“You should have obeyed me.” He squeezed her hand. 

“Well,” she hissed, “I’m not a leper. I am a woman!” She stopped for a moment, trying to stop the inevitable tears. “Except when I’m mad. When I’m mad, I am not a woman!” 

Guy pulled her hand to him, kissing the knuckles. He almost smiled, gave a smirk that not so long ago, Genevieve fell in love with. "How did you answer him?" 

"I told him I'm a demon-spawned, sadistic pixie from hell." She dropped her head. "I'm sorry. This isn't about me. This is about you and your nightmares and demons and why you are so hard on yourself and excuse me, but I think I'm going to be sick." 

She rushed from his side, dropping his hand to bounce on the side of the metal-wrought tub, barely making it to the chamber pot to spew her dinner. Guy listened to her retch, staring at the rafters, trying to find it in his body to rise up and go to her. He caused this, yet another damned moment that was his fault. Grabbing the side of the tub, he pulled himself up, one-handed, his shoulder screaming in agony, finally standing at his full height. Gingerly, he stepped from the tub and dripping wet, stood behind her. "If you hate me and wish to end our relationship-"

"No!" Genevieve leaned back, the sour smell from her stomach, gagging her more. "I wasn't there, it's not my place to judge." 

"I would understand if-"

"Stop it!" She rose up, using the back of her hand to wipe the bile from her mouth. "Don't say anymore." She stepped to the side, trying to calm her stomach. "I'm trying to understand what ... place your mind was in when...what she said, what she did, to drive you to that." Slowly her eyes rose to his, both pairs bloodshot and exhausted. "You could have let me believe it was a lie, you didn't have to say anything!"

Guy shook his head. The opium was winning this fight with his body and his knees were becoming weak. "No. I kept things from Marian, I lied to her in attempt to hold on to her, in fear. I will not do that to you." The woman in front of him began to tilt. "I will not build our life on lies and deceit...and if it means the end of us... " The room spun and he reached out for the wall, anything for support. "Help me, I cannot stand." 

It took a few minutes, but she finally got him to the bed. The binding was wet, so Genevieve changed it, with Guy rambling on and on as the opium took affect. 

"I am a man of substance, wealth and power. It means everything. Isn't that _what_ a woman wants? Needs? A protector of importance? Money to support her? Provide for her? I have clout and it is increasing. I have lineage, a woman should be pleased to be my wife." 

He was still talking when she lifted his legs and turned him into the bed, pulling the quilts up. "Lay back, Guy. Let the medicine do its job." He did as she asked, much like a small child.

"The curtains are spinning." 

"I'm sure they are. Close your eyes." 

"Things behind my eyelids are spinning." 

"You are tripping." 

That smirk she loved so much lay lopsided. "Ah. So this is tripping." 

Genevieve returned to the antechamber. She pulled the cork plug on the tub, marveling yet again at what advances the Dark Ages did have. She peeled off the wet shift and, it brought her comfort, a sense of familiarity. She then pulled the without thinking, pulled one of Guy's poet shirts from the rack. Despite everything hidden box of Kleenex from her gym bag and lined her panties. _Nothing would make this day better._ She then retrieved her iPad and two Tylenol

Guy was asleep and snoring lightly by the time she returned. She tucked him in again, her brain, numb. It dawned on her the inside of her mouth was moldy, so grabbing an empty chalice, she poured herself some watered-down wine, swirling and spitting the first few mouthfuls in the chamber pot. Taking the Tylenol and finishing the glass, she double-checked the drop bar on their door, blew out the candles in the room, save one to read by on her side of the bed, climbed in beside Guy, making sure he was resting. She propped up her pillows and leaned back with the iPad, her body, exhausted. 

_'Hello, chickiepoo.' Val was at the foot of the bed, leaning against the foot post. She pointed to Guy with her chin. 'Your black knight looks as if he's seen the bottom side of a fight.'_

_'Joust.' Turning the iPad off and tucking it under her pillow, Genevieve focused on her office manager. 'It's been a hell of a day.'_  
  
 _'Want to talk about it?'_

_Genevieve sighed. At that moment, Guy chose to grunt and attempt to roll over, only to groan and return to his back._

_'I don't know where to start.'_

_'Good news? Bad news?'_

_*I want to know if I have the right to love anyone again or if I am even capable of it.*_

_'He asked me to marry him. I said yes.'_

_The smile on Val's face was a sad one. 'That might prove to be a problem, sweetheart.'_

_The smile on Genevieve's face matched Val's. 'Until a few hours ago, I would have told you to suck it up and bite me. Tell whoever to leave me here.'_

_'So, something happened to make you change your mind?' Val was cleaning her fingernails with another long, well-manicured fingerhail._

_It was quiet, the only sound in the room being the crackling of the fireplace. 'He told me something, confessed something, and I can't wrap my mind around it. I'm trying to understand. I really am, but I... can't... I feel I'm looking at a pile of puzzle pieces and I don't know what the Big Picture is.' She began to drum her fingers on her knee. 'I know he works for the scummiest person on the earth and that he has done things for Prince John-'_

_'Who he feels, as do many others, should be king.'_

_Genevieve was staring across the room to the fireplace, focused on the flames. 'He says he tried to assassinate the king. Twice.'_

_'He has not lied to you, Genevieve. He has been unfailingly honest. He hurts, cries for forgiveness. I have never come across a more remorseful human being. '_

_*I am the right arm of a tyrant and the fist of a despot and pretender!*_

_'I realize that this time is different and harsher-'_

_'And yet you agreed to marry him.' Val repositioned herself against the post._

_\- *tell me nay so that I can forget all and run to my death for I know this life, if I do not turn from it, will certainly kill me* -_

_'On one hand, he's this... power hungry tyrant. An ambitious... douchebag! I think there was a time he would walk on anyone to get ahead! He'll probably still walk on anyone to get ahead. God knows, I stepped on a few toes! Some might call him a murderer. But on the other, he's an amazing, compassionate, tender...'_

_Val was silent, contemplating Genevieve's words, spoken thoughts. 'You realize had he been critically injured or killed, he made plans for you; provisions to have you spirited away quickly, out of harm's way, out of Vaisey's reach, to a place a safety.'_

_Genevieve snorted. 'You sent me here to a place that is not safe?' She leaned forward, clasping her knees. 'You sent me to a place that isn't safe, bid me to fall in love with a knight with a split personality disorder-'_  
  
 _'Bid you? Bid you?' Val was snickering. 'You've been in Dark Ages too long chickiepoo.' She sat up tall, a strange glow about her, from what Genevieve assumed was the radiance of the fireplace. 'He doesn't have a split personality disorder; he's simply a product of his environment. He is surviving.' At that moment, Guy began to snore, something akin to a freight train, struggling uphill. 'He's existing the best way he knows how, with the tools he has. You remember struggling against odds, don't you, chickiepoo? You remember those rough, lean years?' She reached forward and grabbed Genevieve's hand. 'Did you ever see 'A Christmas Carol'?'_

_'With Scrooge? Sure, but wha-'_

_'Come with me. Tonight, I'm the Ghost of Christmas Past.'_

_**~~~...~~~** _

_One moment, Genevieve was leaning against her pillow, listening to Guy snore - and not minding because it meant he was breathing - the next minute, she and Val stood next to a row of bushes, watching two boys with bows and arrows scrutinize a wheeled tower. The older one, with familiar black hair and features, was scowling, definitely not going along with what the younger, smaller one was rattling about. Out of nowhere, the smaller one shot, causing the wheel to fall, drop on a man standing beneath it._

_'Guy and Robin. They grew up together. No friendship there to repair. Guy was quiet, withdrawn and moody, and Robin was an over-indulged brat even then.' Dust swirled, the two women sucked across the town square into the crowd, to see teen-Guy on a small platform, a noose around his neck._

_'What? What? Are they nuts? He's a boy!' Genevieve was screaming, but no one heard her except Val._

_'The man behind him, ready to hang him, is the bailiff, the one Guy hung several weeks ago.' Val was rattling as if she were telling a fairytale. 'That accident caused by Robin, gravely injured the priest. The bailiff blamed Guy and was set to hang him.'_  
  
 _'But Robin-'_

_'But Robin nothing.' Val was watching the show unfolding. 'The bailiff targeted Guy because Guy's father was assumed killed in the Crusades, making him an easier target, whereas Robin's father was here. The bailiff broke a commandment - thou shall not covet. He wanted what belonged to Guy and he thought if he could kill him, he would gain it. That-' she pointed to a Crusader, striding through the crowd, 'did not happen.'_

_'Guy's father. He wasn't killed.'_

_'No. He arrived home, just in time.' Unseen by Genevieve, Val's eyes misted over. 'He managed to get home, just in time to save Guy.' The woman bowed up, sniffed. 'Robin never told anyone he caused the accident; he let Guy take the blame, and Guy was too frightened he was going to die to say anything.'_

_'And if he had, people would claim he was just saying it to save his neck.'_

_'True.' The sky changed as if many days passed. 'Guy's parents died in a fire, the same fire that killed Robin's father.' The home that Genevieve assumed was Guy's was in flames. 'Guy blames himself. He disliked Robin's father, who was in love with Guy's mother and attempted force him out of the home with a torch, but he dropped it and thinks their deaths were his fault, but it wasn't.' Genevieve could see a man- the bailiff - running through the crowd with a lit torch. 'Guy's father had leprosy and when the bailiff saw smoke, he demanded that the filth be burned away. Everyone would have survived, had the bailiff not set the entire home ablaze.'_

_Genevieve was watching the scene in horror. 'Guy said the bailiff dispossessed him, stripped him of his lands and title.'_

_'Guy thought he did. The bailiff had no right. Guy knows that now.'_

_Again, the sky changed, the landscaped changed; a harsh journey to France, a harsher life, too cruel for children to bear alone. A leaning hut, two children growing up too fast._

_An attentive, besotted young squire._

_A relieved brother. A worry alleviated that should have not been his to begin with._  
  
 _And nightmares still of a fire that he did not cause._

_'Ah, let's have a look at Lady Marian, shall we?'_

_She was young, barely out of girlhood, self-righteous. She treated Robin, fresh home from the Crusades with disdain._

_She used Guy with utter coldness._

_Genevieve hated her immediately._

_There were murders, the previous Master-at-Arms, to be sure. There was also worry about innocent lives lost to a grieving guard who blamed others for his wife's death._

_And crude, rough justice._

_There was compassion, humanity, young boys, playing silly games, in the wrong place at the wrong time._

_The order to kill them._

_The decency, the conscious to ignore the order._

_'Guy's deeply rooted and well-veiled humanity will be his saving grace, if it is cultivated and encouraged, chickiepoo. It will also be the death of him.'_

_And then, there was the Nightwatchman._

_Genevieve knew immediately it was Marian. She couldn't see how Guy could miss it. Was he *that* blind?_

_'Yes.' The two women were now sitting on a branch up in a tall tree, impossibly able to see everything for miles. 'Yes, when it came to Marian. For a time, he was that blind. After that, he chose to be blind, chose to look the other way, refused to believe what his mind told him was true. Initially, he thought the Nightwatchman was part of Hood's gang. Thing is, Marian had been playing her game for a few years before Hood returned from his Crusade. She slipped under Guy's radar because she was feeding people, bringing medicines to those who couldn't afford it.'_  
  
 _'A Good Samaritan. What happened?'_

_'People talk.' Days and nights moved quickly while the two moved from a limb to a rather modern large porch swing, that creaked from an invisible bough in the wind. 'That branch was digging into my butt!' She leaned back, causing it to creak and sway. 'I'll be digging out splinters for days! I should have thought of this to begin with. A much better way to travel. Mint Julep?' Val handed Genevieve a tall glass, which she immediately began to sip from. 'Where were we? Ah, yes. The Nightwatchman. People talk and Marian grew bold. They revered the Nightwatchman, something that upset Vaisey.'_

_'Meaning he made up false stories and sent Guy out to find him.'_

_'True. And of course, the legend and myth was much bigger than the truth. Until word came down that King Richard was returning to England and would be stopping in Nottingham on his way home.'_

_'She agreed she would marry me when King Richard returned to England.' Genevieve was suddenly aware that she was squished between Val and Guy - a Guy with shorter hair and wearing leather trappings. He held a mint julep in one hand, pulling the decorations and mint leaves from the rim and tossing them with the other, flicking them with a sneer from his fingertips. Genevieve looked at Val in horror; the office manage simply shaking her head and putting her fingers to her lips. 'I was excited. So very much excited, until I found out, it was a ruse, a ruse by Vaisey to root out the nobles in Nottingham who were not loyal to him.' The man sitting next to her seem to fall in a trance, not really there, waning in and out like a ghost._

_'Marian was resigned to marry him, she promised him she would marry him when the king returned. She thought she'd find a way out. She didn't, so she decided several days before the wedding to have one final fling as the Nightwatchman. Only instead of aiding people with food, she decided to rob Guy.' Guy's doppelganger faded away. 'Sadly, for her, it didn't go as planned.'_

_*Gotcha!*_

_'Guy didn't quite catch her, but he did get one good punch in.'_

_Blood... and that wicked, curved blade Guy cut her stitches with._

_'She survived, barely. Of course, Guy didn't know. When he went to tell her the following day that the so-called king coming to Nottingham wasn't the king, he discovered Marian unconscious, pale, and weak in bed. According to her father, she had fallen from her horse and was excited about the wedding.'_

_'So Guy said nothing because he thought the excitement he felt-'_

_'Was mutual.' Guy was back, this time leaning against the chain on his side of the swing. 'I thought she wanted to marry me.' He faded again._

_The sun rose on a wedding day, ribbons, food everywhere. Genevieve almost didn't recognize the town of Locksley, the church. 'Someone went all out for this wedding.'_

_'Yes, he did. Of course, the truth came out during their vows. One of the nobles set to spill his guts to 'the king' was her own father.'_

_'Her own father didn't come to his only child's wedding?' Genevieve snorted. 'Politics. Splitting up families since the Dark Ages.'_

_"Exactly. Regardless, Marian blamed Guy for it and lived the rest of her life thinking he tried to trick her into marrying him.'_

_*The ring... it goes on the left..._

_No. It works better on the right.*_

_'Guy is a proud man, so of course, there was retribution, the sheriff correctly seeing Sir Edward and his daughter was the most vocal of his opponents.'_

_The blaze from a burning home lit up the night._

_'He used Guy's anger and wounded ego to the best of his abilities. That worked well for a short time. But slowly, Guy's feelings returned and his heart reasserted itself.' Val's hand took Genevieve's own. 'He didn't lie. He loved her. Truly loved her.'_

_*Why do you always resist me? I'm trying to help you!*_

_'Winchester's father was in love with Marian's mother. He wanted her, Vaisey gave her to him, knowing Guy would go insane. Vaisey needed Winchester's signature on the agreement uniting the Black Brotherhood, so after they had his signature, he and Guy went after her.'_

_*Did you think I would just smile and let you have Sussex?*_

_*You're safe now, Marian.*_

_Genevieve now had her head in her hands. 'Oh stop. Please. This is worse than a poorly written soap opera!' She then looked up to the sky. 'It's like This is your Life - in hell!'_

_*She ran away, Gisborne. What does that tell us, hmmm? That the crusty one was the only reason she stayed.*_

_'You think, chickiepoo? Guy's lived it!' The swing was now perched in the air over the woods, the heat almost unbearable. 'After the death of her father, she escaped Nottingham Castle to live with Robin in the woods, but that was just as bad as what she thought would be marriage to Guy. Robin is still self-indulged and no one gainsays him. However, in order for him to escape a finally successful raid on Guy's part, she pretended to be captured in the tree. In the mayhem, Robin got away while Guy climbed it and rescued her.'_  
  
 _*I've got you now. You're coming home with me.*_

_The scenery was spinning, dizzying..._

_*Marry me. Marry me and live!*_

_'Is there a brick wall I can just throw myself at?'_   
_  
'Genevieve!' The drink in her hand refilled itself. 'Drink up, me hearty! It gets worse.'_

_A desperate, needy kiss..._

_'Can we please just cut to the chase?'_

_*No! It cannot be...*_

_'When he discovered she was the Nightwatchman, he teetered on the very edge, only to put his life on the line for her, yet again.'_

_A noose... a ruse..._

_*You have failed me again! I will not tolerate incompetence! Last chance, Gisborne!*_

_*You do not know me as well as you think.*_

_Everything went white. For a moment, it blinded Genevieve, the suddenness, the brightness of it. Slowly, as her eyes adjusted, she realized she was looking down at a city; a dead, white city in the dessert._  
  
 _'You wanted to understand, wanted to know why he snapped.' Val's voice was soft. 'That's what happened. He snapped. You can push a person just so far and Marian pushed Guy beyond his breaking point. She did so several times and every time, he clung to her, to his sanity by his fingernails to crawl back. He put his own life on the line, every time, he came to her aid. This last time, he couldn't.'_

_A man on the ground... Guy, broadsword drawn..._

_Marian..._

_*Us? There was never an 'us'! I love Robin Hood. I'm going to marry Robin Hood-*_

_'Stop! Please! No more! I can't.' Genevieve had her eyes squeezed shut and her head turned away. 'Did she feel anything for him at all?'_  
  
 _Val was quiet, thoughtful for a moment before she spoke. 'Who knows? Oh, she was grateful when he saved her life, stood between her and the sheriff, but she knew he loved her and she used him, told his secrets to Robin. He trusted her over and over and over and she betrayed that trust every single time. And in the minute Guy realized the truth, he snapped.'_

_Genevieve was heaving._

_'Sorry, chickiepoo. No vomiting in dreams. Not with me.'_

_Suddenly, they were back in Locksley, swinging over the pond. It was silent, not even crickets or frogs vocalizing in their discontent._

_'So, now you see. He never stepped into that square with the intention to kill her. He is sorry, would trade places, would go back in time this moment if given the chance to undo what he did, to change places. He would die if it meant sparing her life. Still. He is the most remorseful human being I have ever encountered. He begs constantly for forgiveness. What he does not understand is he has been forgiven and the Almighty wonders why he keeps asking. It is forgotten.'_

_'He can't forgive himself.'_

_'No.' The woman's hand squeezed hers. 'The choice is yours. What are you going to do, Genevieve?'_

_*No matter what, I cannot escape them. I have done horrible, evil things and I do not know how to atone for them. I have done things I am very ashamed of, things that haunt me and I have demons who taunt me with a well- deserved hell._

_I want to lay you on the table and have you to break my fast. I want to try you on for size, explore every fantasy and road with you and damn your time and damn your company and damn Nottingham and damn Vaisey!*_

_*There are those who say Sir Guy is a devil. A demon. He is a wicked man.*_

_Everyone needs forgiveness. Everyone needs understanding._

_*I want to be your last desire.*_

_'Genevieve? What are you going to do?'_

_Genevieve's inhale was audible. 'There is no love without forgiveness and there is no forgiveness without love. My grandmother used to tell me that, all the time.' Her smile was grim, joyless. 'I'm not going to leave him, not now.' Finally, she looked up. 'That contract sucks. I have no intention of signing it and no intention of selling, especially not to someone as slimy as Ficklebutte. Guy thinks Ficklebutte has something on me, over me. I need a new attorney, one who can't be bought by someone else. I need to make sure my employees are protected. I do not wish to leave Guy. I intend to marry him and live as happily as we can for as long as whoever put me here will let me. If it can be arranged, I want him to come back with me.'_

_'If he wants, you mean.'_

_Genevieve handed her empty glass to Val. 'Yeah. If he wants.'_

_Val took the glass and winked. 'I'll see what I can do, chickiepoo.'_

_**~~~...~~~** _

Genevieve tried to roll over, a wall hindering her and a crick in her neck. She opened her eyes to a bound hand and chest.

"You have been restless."

"How long have you been awake?" she yawned. "Are you hurting? Do you need anything?" 

"Some of your Tye-le-nol, perhaps. No magic wine." Guy rolled back on his back, groaning as he went, his out-stretched arm pulling Genevieve into his unprotected side. "Trippy. Not a good feeling. Gave me weird, strange dreams." 

Genevieve's throat caught. "What kind of weird, trippy dreams did you have." 

Guy stared into the curtains above his head. "I dreamed I relived hell; every horrible, wretched memory brought to life again. Only this time, you were at my side watching it as well." His tongue noisily sucked at the roof of his mouth. "And we were drinking a weird, minty drink." He pulled his arm out from under Genevieve and stroked his thumb against his teeth, inspecting it after a few rubs. "Damn. I believe I can feel leaves between my teeth!" He continued to make clucking noises with his tongue and the roof of his mouth. 

"Guy? Can I ask you something?"

He turned his head, eyes full of sadness. "I told you the truth last night, Genevieve. It was not a... trippy, make-believe memory." For a moment, he feared she would rebuke him, get up, storm out, leave-

"I believe you. Really. I truly believe you were pushed beyond the limits of what you could listen to and accept-"

"You will _not_ speak ill of her or malign her," Guy hissed. "She made me think, made me a better man." 

"I know. She found and unburied your heart and your humanity, but I will _not_ live with her ghost hanging over us." That brought Guy up. "You snapped. That's what we call it in my time. When someone is pushed beyond their mental and emotional limits and they can't take anymore, they snap and do things they would not normally do." She kicked the covers off and rolled out of the bed. The room was dark and cold, the sun not yet up, so Genevieve stoked the fireplace to warm the chambers. "I wasn't there, so I can't judge you and I won't. It's not my place." 

The room was quiet while she went into the antechamber, took care of business. As she opened her duffle bag, she began to laugh.

"Wot is funny? I am dying in pain and she is sitting on the privy, laughing." 

Genevieve held a box of super tampons. "You wouldn't understand."

Several minutes later and wearing a clean, linen shift, Genevieve handed Guy two Tylenol and a goblet of water. "You didn't let me ask my question."

He threw the capsules to the back of his throat and chased them down with the water. "Wot was your question?" 

"I fell from the sky." 

Guy looked at her, goblet still to his mouth. "That is not a question." His voice echoed eerily in the cavernous confines of the goblet. 

"It has been mentioned several times that I fell from the sky. You said I was thrown at you. Did I fall from the sky? I can sit here all day and stop you from going to the bathroom until you answer." 

Genevieve found herself pushed aside as Guy somehow managed to roll to the other side of the bed and stand up. He padded across the room, leaving the empty goblet on the mantle of the fireplace before going into the antechamber. "You fell from the sky." Disgusting sounds came from the room, the man obviously enjoying himself and the discomfort he knew he was bestowing on the lady in the room. "I was contemplating a useful and worthwhile gift from God. The next minute, your luggage was thrown at the feet of my horse and before we could open it and peruse what it was, you fell from the sky," he finished and shook, "and landed on me." He started to return stark naked, but decided against it. Grabbing a pair of trousers, he returned to the room, slinging them across the bed. "In the beginning, I thought you were some demon sent to begin my descent into hell, however I have now decided that you are manna, manna from heaven." He reached out and touched a cheek, wiping an errant tear. "You have given me a reason to retain my sanity, mended my heart, made me desire to strive for something more and better. I will plead to the Almighty to allow you to stay, give us time to figure out a solution to our problem. Right now, this minute, however, I need help getting those on." 

Genevieve smirked at him, before grabbing the leggings and bending down on the floor. As he stepped in, she remarked, "You helped me when I was hurting; this is no big deal." Rising up on her knees, she tugged them to his hips. 

"True that, and if I were you, I would not kiss what is in your face." Genevieve rolled her eyes. _Honestly! Did the man think of nothing else?_ "Between the medications and where I just came from, I suspect - ow!' he grimaced as she yanked his pants over his rear-end, making him rise on his toes, "it will remain limp for a time and I am certain at this moment, it does not taste well." 

"I had a dream last night, as well." She began to lace the front, her chin pulled up to look at him. "I asked to stay. Give us time to figure out what's in that contract. And if they won't let me stay..."

"If?" 

"I... asked... for you to come with me. If you desire." 

Guy was staring at her, down that long nose of his, his features solemn. Before he could answer her, there was a knock at the door. 

Felicity, Eleanor, Sir Rodrick's physician arrived at the same time.

_**~~~...~~~** _

They attended early Sunday Mass together, Guy leaning heavily on Genevieve and Genevieve bored to tears. This priest droned and droned in Latin like a large bumble bee in her grandmother's garden in the summer, which, if Guy was paying attention, translated for her. He made sweeping insinuations about fornication and then announced, for the second time, the betrothal and impending marriage of Sir Guy and Lady Genevieve. It made it sound as if their first born would arrive much sooner than the anticipated nine months.

Sir Guy stared at the priest nonchalantly while Genevieve wanted to crawl under the pew. 

After eating breakfast in the main hall, they retired to Genevieve's room, Guy finally agreeing to the 'magic wine' again, administered by Alric, with an additional concoction of turmeric, willow bark, and chamomile. Eleanor was enjoying Felicity's friendship and company, so after taking the dress Genevieve wore the day before down to the laundress and while Guy slept, Genevieve sat in the sunny alcove alone, reading. Meals were brought, the physician and Sir Rodrick hovered until Guy growled and Genevieve intervened, running everyone off. 

It was not unnoticed that neither Vaisey nor Isabella came to check on the knight. 

Monday dawned cold, but not raining. Guy insisted he was tired of bed rest and being 'trippy' - Genevieve rather thought he enjoyed saying the word - and was determined on getting dressed. Rather than have his arm bound to his chest, he talked Alric into fashioning a sling worn on the outside of his clothing and then was quite the grumpy soul while they dressed him. When all was said and done, Guy whispered to Genevieve he just might stay in that shirt for a week and she could simply get used to the stench. 

Vaisey ignored the two at breakfast; his head close to several members of the Black Brotherhood, including a rather irate Lord Harridston, and much to Genevieve's concern, Lord Reginald. Guy noticed that the group would look up and stare at Genevieve frequently and that bothered him. Isabella stopped by her brother's chair, asking him how he fared and not paying attention to the answer. Her mind was elsewhere, obviously, and her concern was simply for show.

As Genevieve and Guy perused the merchant stalls, she couldn't help but notice that along with the usual castle guards and Guy's supplementary guards, there was additional, very visible protection, which she took to be Sir Rodrick's knights. 

"All this security. Is it necessary?" 

"To get the sheriff to keep his end of the bargain, so Rodrick will leave without the Golden Slipper and with Timmy and his mother?" Guy's nose was up, looking for cinnamon walnuts. "And me with two weeks off? Yes." They were shadowed by Michael and Donald. One of the quiet things he accomplished that morning was to send Joffrey to Timmy's home, to prepare his mother for Timmy's - and her - imminent departure. He also sent Timmy a tersely worded message to be on his best behavior until that time. Once several pouches of the walnuts were purchased and sent to their room via Donald - who didn't like them, so Genevieve figured they were in safe hands - Guy corralled her towards the area where the jewelry and gem vendors were set up. Security there was extra tight; every one on the lookout for thieves. Hood had already shown up once, as Guy and Genevieve knew well, but it was rumored one of the visiting noble's had been robbed. 

"Who?" Genevieve was curious.

"Harridstons," Guy sniffed. "I am not the least bit upset." 

"Me either." 

"They have not left, for your information. They are hoping for the return of their possessions and bending every ear they can that you are a witch and I have been beguiled. Have you chosen a ring?" 

Genevieve blinked at the sudden shift in topic. "There are a few that caught my eye and should I be worried?" They meandered a ways, Genevieve looking for the merchant who had the nice selection she was looking at when Vaisey interrupted her. 

"Show me and I rather doubt it." He followed as she turned a corner, looking. "They have not ingratiated themselves with anyone. They certainly will not be finding suitable husbands for their daughters from this lot, considering their behavior with you." 

Genevieve found the merchant, who smiled and beamed when she saw Genevieve return without the loathsome sheriff. "Sir Guy," she dipped. "I had hoped this was your lady. Congratulations." 

"Mistress Merilla," Guy leaned over best he could. "What caught my lady's eye?" 

It was not lost on either that the woman looked both ways before pulling the drawer behind the stall and removing several rings. "The lady did not get a chance to complete her selection," she spoke softly.

"Why not?" Guy turned to Genevieve. 

"We were... interrupted." 

"Ah." He waved his hand over the small grouping of rings. "The sheriff?" Both women rolled their eyes and scowled. 

So Guy, who was discovering shopping _with_ a woman was much different than shopping _for_ a woman, stood by as Genevieve tried on ring after ring, said ' _I don't know,' 'what do you think,_ ' more times than he cared to count. He half expected her to ask if this ring made her finger look fat! Eye rolls and secret eyeball games men play were passed between Guy, Donald, and Michael over Genevieve's and Merilla's heads, who were clueless that the men accompanying them were bored. They left with Genevieve still undecided, Guy extremely decided, and Michael drifting back fifteen minutes later to acquire both said extremely decided purchases and obtain something sparkly for his own wife. 

Despite Genevieve asking as prettily as possible, Guy refused to take her by Isandra's stall. He was still insisting that the red dress with the crystals that she had not worn yet would suffice for their wedding. Obviously, she would have to sneak down that afternoon or tomorrow to take care of it herself. 

She prayed she had enough money.

Lunch was a quiet, private affair between the two and after making sure she really, truly wanted to marry him, Guy presented Genevieve with a filigreed ruby ring.

[](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/ZeeDippyVessel/media/Fic%20Artwork/gensmaybeengagementasluoiuerewr_zpsd460d22c.jpg.html)  


The rest of the afternoon was spent with the window open, despite the cool air, listening to the minstrels playing just outside the casement. Supper was spent the same way, enjoying the quiet. Guy was dragging, had been dragging the afternoon and napping fitfully on and off. Alric came by with Rodrick, to administer another dose of turmeric and a small dose of opium and willow bark.

"Yer lady mus' be bored t'tears, Guy," Rodrick admonished the man. "Alric 'as a treatise 'e wants t'read. Let me escort Genevieve t' th' gamin' 'all fer a few. Aye won't try a thin' an' make sure no one bothers wit' her."

"I'll sit with him. 'Tis no problem." 

Genevieve was at a loss. She hated being cooped up, hated it when she was cooped up, but-

"I'm here as well," Eleanor piped up. She had Genevieve's dress back from the laundry and was busy cleaning and straightening everything. The Lord and his lady might think they were neat, but they weren't! "If Sir Guy needs or wants you, I'll be right there." 

Genevieve looked between Guy, Eleanor, Guy, Alric, Guy, Rodri-

"Just go for a short time," Guy encouraged. "You have been attached to my side since the joust. Play a few rounds of that silly card game you enjoy, if nothing else." 

"You're sure?" One minute, she was standing by herself in the middle of the floor, the next, Guy towered over her, exhaustion in his eyes. With his free hand, he pulled her close, tipping her head back, so his lips could easily graze her forehead. 

"Stay away from Vaisey. Stay away from Isabella. Scream bloody murder if any of the Harridstons come within speaking distance." The next thing she knew, her purse was pressed into her hand and she was gently shoved out the door. 

"Well!" she gasped, staring at the closed door in front of her. "I guess that settles it." She put her hand in Sir Rodrick's arm. "I guess I better go win some money! Baby needs new shoes!" 

"Wha'evr y'say, lassie." 

The men left behind waited until Rodrick's bootfalls faded down the hallway. Finally-

"What have you got?" Guy moved into the alcove and settled heavily on the long seat. 

"Cards, stones, or cups." Alric began to pull gaming items, as well as flasks of alcohol from his bag. "As well as whiskey and a very smooth aged scotch! Go easy," the physician stated pointedly, "on the alcohol and I just might really put opium in last bit of watered wine, tonight!" 

Guy nodded in agreement. "Eleanor, invite the guard in. Do not say a word to Lady Genevieve." 

Eleanor rolled her eyes, making sure her back was to Sir Guy. _Men!_ she thought. _Running Lady Genevieve away to gamble, so they could gamble!_

_**~~~...~~~** _

The Great Hall was busy, full, loud, noisy. Genevieve spent the first hour, showing off her ring, affirming Guy was healing, cranky, and a grouch! One or two women made snide remarks about Sir Guy having to marry her, to which Genevieve informed them that was not the case. Several times, the hair raised on the back of her neck, only for her to turn and see the Harridstons staring her down or Vaisey watching. During those times, she was grateful Sir Rodrick was nearby, keeping an eye on everyone. Obviously, he took his pledge to Guy very seriously.

She shot craps several times, only they didn't call it craps, and won two out of three. She did well at the roulette wheel as well, making sure she didn't overstay her welcome. Play quick, short, and leave almost immediately. That was her motto! 

_Hey! It worked at the Cherokee Casino for her, it would work here as well._

Finally, she made it to the card table. There weren't many people there, so it would be easier for her to count. In the back of her mind, she was there for one reason and one reason only; she did NOT want to wear red at her wedding. If she could siphon enough aside, fabulous. If not; she would just settle for wearing red at her wedding! 

And if there was anything Genevieve Faith Robinson did not like, it was settling for anything. 

It only took four hands for her to accumulate what she thought would be a decent amount for a wedding dress. Just as she laid her cards down and gathered her chips, a sudden cold settled beside her. 

"Leaving so soon, Lady Genevieve?" Vaisey was over perfumed and the smell was over-powering. 

"Yes. I am done for the evening." 

Rodrick was at her side, his hand firmly, but gently at her elbow. 

"I see you have a stand-in for Gisborne." Vaisey's tone oozed, insinuated much. "Does he know? Did you make sure he had more than enough pain killer?" He rubbed his hands together. "Or perhaps, the trio of you make a cozy threesome."

"Sir Guy bid me t' watch 'is lady. She's bin cooped up wit' 'im an' this," Rodrick surveyed the room, "be 'is idea." He leaned down to Genevieve, all attention on her. "Arr y'ready t'retire?" 

"Of course she isn't ready," Vaisey took her other arm, in attempt to lead her back to the card table. "She's winning." 

As unobtrusively as possible, Genevieve removed her arm from Vaisey's hand, her mind reeling for anything to get away from the man. "I am afraid I am done for the evening."

"But-"

"My grandmother taught me to quit before I became greedy. It's advice that has served me well." 

"You remember your grandmother?" Vaisey honed in on that tidbit, much to Genevieve's horror. "Perhaps your memory is returning?" 

Genevieve took a deep, calming breath. "I'm afraid not. I fear the woman is not alive. My recollections of her are few. If you'll excuse me." With that, she dipped her head marginally, and tightened her grip on Rodrick's elbow. "Sir Rodrick, if you would please escort me to my chambers, I would be appreciative." With that, the two glided from the Hall. 

"Ah, Lady Genevieve," Vaisey hissed. He reached over and picked up the chalice the servant had set down by his side. "What a liar you are! I believe you know exactly who you are, where you are from, and you have pulled a fast one on our Gizzy!" He took a drink of the fruity wine. "I wonder what other secrets you are keeping." Not caring who was watching, he toasted the door where the woman had exited with her burly watchdog. "And I'll bet if I can get you alone and frightened for Gisborne's safety, you will tell them all to me." He drained the goblet and set it down, wandering away. 

Not realizing that Aedyth and Reginald had overheard the entire exchange.

_**~~~...~~~** _

_**The devil, already, he knows me so well** _

_**~~~...~~~** _


	30. 29 - Endures...

_**Manna from Heaven** _

_**Chapter 29** _

_**Endures...** _

Tuesday morning dawned cold and crisp, Genevieve's mood brightening (after taking a few Tylenol and drinking some mead with Thornton's magic herbs) and Guy's temper growing darker and moodier. Something was wrong and he couldn't put his finger on it.

Actually, he could put his finger on exactly what was wrong; he simply didn't like it. It had 'Vaisey' written all over it.

They managed to break their fast early, long before the sheriff came down. Alric made sure Guy's arm was bound tight in the sling, so Guy was able to look semi-functional. Against Alric's orders - and Genevieve's fussing - he spent the morning with Rodrick, Joffrey and Wymon, the castle's head guard and Nottingham's assistant to Guy, arranging security detail with the combined forces of Guy's, Rodrick's, and Nottingham guards and lower knights. As usual, Guy made sure one of his own was at a side gate. It came in handy on occasion when he wanted to slip someone - or himself - in or out. In addition, a large amount of money was going to be sent to London for John later in the week and Guy was determined it would arrive at its first stop, where it would be handed over to the garrison, intact, every crown accounted for. 

John needed to be appeased and nothing appeased him more than money. 

Guy sighed, allowing all to think he grimaced due to pain. He was hurting, although nothing like was he on Saturday. 

Timmy's mother, with Timmy in tow, had shown up almost the moment Guy sat down at his chair behind the table, crying and wailing about sending her poor baby away. 

Timmy, however, found the thought of becoming a knight to be much more fun and exciting than sitting in a Clun pasture watching the boring sheep and was rather vocal about it. He had watched the joust and thought it thrilling and that was just what he wanted to be!

Which made his mother wail more, until Sir Rodrick informed her that if should would shut the hell up, she could come cook for Timmy and cook for him and not be parted from her wee one. 

Of course, he had to repeat himself four times before she understood a word.

And after the pair left, Rodrick told Guy he might demand the Golden Slipper anyway for taking on that wailing woman. She was fair enough to look at, but she damn well better be able to cook.

Guy reminded the man that she wasn't part of their agreement and he could leave her behind if he so chose. 

Rodrick muttered that at least she was pretty and he knew what a gag was. 

Guy sent Genevieve shopping this last day of the faire with Michael and Eleanor, padding her purse with more crowns. She'd returned the night before antsy and upset. Vaisey had needled her, upset her, although she wouldn't say what the man said or done, and she was ready to return to the quiet and peacefulness of Locksley. Guy talked her into staying one more day. Vendors would start packing up their wares that afternoon, so the best deals would be found now, things she might want for the wedding, their home. He supposed he could have waited until today to buy Genevieve's rings, both betrothal and wedding, but truth was he feared someone else might have purchased them. 

He rightfully suspected Genevieve would buy up every last cinnamon walnut at the sweets vendor. Meaning he would probably never want to see another one as long as he lived. 

_On second thought, they were pretty tasty!_

After Wymon left to rotate his guards and conduct a security pass through the stalls, Rodrick protested Guy's working again. 

"You sound like an old woman, my friend," Guy was not amused. "The last thing I want is for Vaisey to think I am dispensable. We know what happens to dispensable people around here, do we not, Joffrey?" 

Joffrey responded by grabbing the neck of his undershirt and pulling it up like a noose. 

"So I must keep my fingers in the pie and at the very least, make myself appear useful." He addressed Joffrey. "Put out that we will take John's money to him on Friday. Be prepared to leave with it tomorrow. That will throw Hood off." 

Rodrick still grumped. The door to the office in the armory flew open as Lord Reginald made his way in, shutting the door quietly behind him. "Sir Guy, we need to talk, we need to talk privately, and we need to talk now." 

Guy looked at his friend and Joffrey, Rodrick standing up. "Well, aye no when aye no be wanted," he smiled. 

"Is this going to be a threat on my life, Sir Reginald?" While the comment was jovial and said with a smile, deep in his gut, Guy feared the man had discovered his previous relationship with his wife. It didn't help that he was imagining Genevieve to be skittish around him, in light of her learning the truth. She watched him under hooded eyes and he wondered if it was due to his injury or watching to make sure he did not... what was the word she used?... snap, yes, making sure he did not 'snap' again. 

"My wife and I overheard a conversation this morning you should be aware of."

Guy pointed to Rodrick. "Stay." He then flicked his finger at Joffrey. "Stand guard at the door. Let no one in." He waited until the man was outside, the sound of the door latch clacking shut, before looking up at the nobleman he really wanted to like. "I am listening." 

"The Harridstons are leaving this morning. Their retinue should be ready within the, if I heard correctly." 

"Ah, gud riddance t' rubbish!"

"Praise God and Jesu and I will put several extra crowns in the poor box." Guy flicked a long finger to Rodrick. "So should you!" 

"True and all of that, however, they were bending ears at the table yestereve and this morning." 

This made Guy sit up a bit. "Whose ears?" 

"Winchester Junior's and Vaisey's." He took a breath before speaking swiftly. "Winchester fancies the younger of Harridston's daughters. Aedyth thinks he can be reasoned with, but that is neither here nor there at the moment. Regardless, the chit has bent his ear about how horribly she and her sister were treated by your betrothed. In short, she talked down to them, caused them embarrassment in public, and caused a lady of the nobility to think less of them, when she had no right. In short, they consider themselves Lady Genevieve's betters and feel she should be punished."

"Add to that, word is spreading that Genevieve is a witch, that I have been mesmerized by her-"

"And that she is in league with Robin Hood." 

Guy pushed himself back from the table with his foot. "Oh, dear God! That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard-"

"Why else would Hood be in your chambers? Who knows how long they were in there together. Alone." 

The room was silent for a moment, while the men thought over what had been said. After a few minutes, Lord Reginald continued. 

"Her speech is strange, the two of you are openly cohabitating, as if you were both already married. You dote on her, grant her her every whim. She was in the healer's tent without a chaperone, with men in a disheveled and undressed state."

Guy's stomach turned into a pit of ice. "Was the sheriff listening or participating in the conversation?" 

Reginald's face turned sorrowful. His wife had championed this couple, taken Guy's betrothed under her wing. The woman was out-spoken, determined and head-strong, but Aedyth found delight in her. Personally, Genevieve reminded him of their youngest daughter - all spit and fire! Finding a patient husband for her would be his undoing! "His voice was the reason why we were alerted to the conversation. According to him, Lady Genevieve appeared out of nowhere, with nothing to recommend her, save to _claim_ she is educated. You have given her food, succor, a roof, clothing, treated her like a queen. In return, she is obviously warming your bed and treating Nottingham's guests as soil beneath her feet." 

"Lord Reginald," Guy began slowly, "I appreciate your candor and your aid, but I-" 

"I am sure you realize that Vaisey wants me to join the Black Brotherhood." Reginald stated sharply. "While I support John in becoming king, it is obvious your sheriff thinks the prince will be a puppet and the Black Brotherhood will be the true rulers." 

 

"Ye mean, Vaaaaaaisey thinks 'e wud be t'tru ruler." Rodrick drawled. "John be no man's puppet!" 

"The Sheriff knows you have the affection of Prince John and he wonders where your loyalties lie."

Guy propped his chin on the back of his good hand. "You think he will try to use Genevieve to force that information from me."

"That is a possibility," Reginald agreed. "Winchester is bandying that she is possibly a spy from King Richard. That would explain her strange tongue and the fact she appeared out of nowhere. Vaisey ate that up!"

Guy sat at the table, his chin propped on the back of his unbound hand, staring at the Nottingham banner on the wall. "Anything else?" 

Reginald sank into the nearest chair, across from the Black Knight. "I really do not know how to put this." 

"Just say it." 

Reginald gazed deeply up at the window above Guy's head. "Vaisey said that you seem to be... attracted... to beautiful, but dangerous women. Last night we over heard him muttering after Genevieve left. Something about getting her alone and making her afraid for your safety, she would tell him everything." 

The ice pit in Guy's stomach grew colder, if that was possible. "I need to get her out of here. Now." His mind was racing, reeling. "What did she do to set him off?" 

"She told him 'no' when he attempted to talk her into staying at the gaming table. In pressing her to return, she told him her grandmother taught her to quit while she was winning. The sheriff tried to force the issue of her grandmother." _Ah, so that's what she was upset about!_ Reginald leaned forward, his hand in a fist. "The man acts like a jealous fish-wife." 

_Lepers, Gisborne. They are all lepers..._

"He is. I have a plan. I need vellum and a writing utensil. Do you know where your lady-wife is at?"

_**~~~...~~~** _

Genevieve was loaded up on walnuts, shown her ring off to Madam Isandra and was just beginning to discuss her wedding dress, when a familiar voice raised above the crowd. "Lady Genevieve! Darling, there you are!" Lady Aedyth touched her elbow. "I have the most wonderful surprise for you! Quickly! Follow me!"

"But I-"

Lady Aedyth grabbed her hand. "She'll be back later. Come," the woman began to yank on her hand. "Come with me! Such a wonderful surprise!" 

Genevieve found herself eyeballing apologies to Isandra, while being dragged away and back into the castle, via a side door, her guard and lady's maid in tow. The bailey was busy, full of soon-to-be departing nobles, including, thank God, the Harridstons. Not taking a moment to stop and glare, Aedyth led her through the maze of the castle, hustling her into a strange group of rooms. 

The fire was blazing, Reginald, Rodrick, Alric, and Guy's heads together, whispering. The moment they entered, Guy lifted his head. "Eleanor." The girl curtseyed, white-faced. Something was wrong. Horribly wrong. "Go to my lady's chambers and retrieve my large saddle bag. Put Lady Genevieve's personal satchel, night shift, several-"

"Oh, sod it, Guy!" Aedyth interrupted. She took the young girl by the arm. "I will go with her and get Genevieve a few suitable outfits." The two whisked from the room like a whirlwind.

"Guy?" Genevieve was pale, terrified. "What's going on? Why are you packing me? I thought we decided we were leaving tomorrow?" 

"Plans have changed. You are leaving now." Guy looked up, looked around, jerking his head for the room to clear, which it did, including Lord Reginald, leaving the two in the room alone. "Our greatest fear has come to pass, m'lady."

"I've set Vaisey off. It will blow over?" 

"Aye, it will blow over, once I have made you my wife, but I cannot do that this moment."

"How soon can you?" 

Guy turned her around, undoing the laces of her dress. "Sunday, when the last set of banns are called at all three churches. Here, Locksley, and Kirksley. In the meantime," her dress pooled at her feet, "I have to hide you away, keep you - step out - safe and protected." He shoved a pair of leggings at her. "Put these on." 

"But-"

"Vaisey is convinced you are a witch and that you have beguiled me. It is whispered you are a spy for King Richard and are really from the Far East, daughter of an evil magician." 

Genevieve was pulling the leggings on. At least, they weren't Guy's! "Oh, for Pete's sake!" 

"Vaisey was overheard conspiring to take you and terrify you, torture you for information. I will not have it!" 

"I will not leave you!" 

"I am sending you away."

"You can't!"

"I am!" He picked up a plain black tunic. "Put this on. There are boots by the wall." 

"Guy," Genevieve was getting dressed despite her protests. "You cannot hide me at Locksley!" 

"I am not hiding you at Locksley. I am sending you to Ripley's."

"Well! I simply refuse to go-"

Genevieve found her chin in a tight vice. "Do not force my hand, Genevieve. If I must have you trussed, gagged, and slung over a saddle-"

"BANANA!" 

Guy was anything, but amused. "This is not our little bed game, Genevieve. You are in serious danger and I cannot protect you with us unwed and me injured!" 

"Well, let's just go down to the priest here in the castle, and get married!" 

"We cannot!" Guy's voice began to rise. "The priest here is in Vaisey's employ. He will do what Vaisey says and seek permission from Vaisey, which he will not give."

"Father Thomas-"

"Will not for fear of Vaisey. Not until the final banns have been called on Sunday." 

"Banns! Banns! I don't understand these banns!" 

"'Tis a license, a legality. It gives anyone who thinks they have legal cause to stop the marriage a chance to speak up!" He saw her look of confusion. "Your father, guardian, someone who had a previous contract of marriage for your hand!"

"There is no one here-"

"I know!" He rubbed his shoulder and grimaced. "I have paid dearly to rush them!" Seeing her look of outrage, Guy raised a finger to silence her pending tirade. "You are worth it!"

There was a knock at the door, Guy checking it before opening it fully. In moments, the room was full, Michael and Joffrey, shedding their Gisborne colors for the green and black of Lord Reginald. Plain cloaks were handed out, again marked with Reginald's insignia. Guy's saddle bag was brought and set on the bed, Eleanor whispering that her personal bag was in it, as well as her nightrail, small clothes, her blue velvet dress and her black one, with the gold and red trim. Her white fur trimmed cloak was being folded into another saddle bag. Boots were handed to her, the servant helping her into them, lacing them up. Genevieve heard Guy order Eleanor to slip out the side gate, run to Locksley and pack Genevieve's plainer clothes. Michael would take them later to the convent and she would ride back on Zeus in the cloak and clothes Genevieve was currently wearing. 

Genevieve found herself rushed from the chambers and hustled down the back hallway, her hand in Guy's. At every corner, every turn, someone went ahead, to make sure the corridor was clear.

_This is wrong, it can't be right, this is happening too fast._

Soon, quickly, she found herself in a quiet barn, horses, Zeus, being saddled. Féond had his head hanging over the stall door, watching the comings and goings with as much disdain as he could muster. He tried to take a nip out of Joffrey has he passed. While the guards attached the saddlebags to theirs and Genevieve's mounts, Guy stepped into his destrier's stall, swiftly running his hand over the stallion's rear leg. "I will check that for you, boy," he murmured, "in a few minutes." He grabbed an apple from the barrel outside the stall and handed it to him, in hopes to temporarily mollify the creature.

"Guy, please," Genevieve was in tears, over-whelmed at the rapidity of the things going on around her, the unraveling of everything. "Don't send me away. We can fight this, fight Vaisey together." 

"Under normal circumstances, yes," he agreed with her. "Normal circumstances being me not injured, no Isabella, no Harridstons, no Winchester, no a lot of things. Unfortunately, we do not have normal circumstances. Many have accidentally stepped on the wrong side of Vaisey and did not live to tell the tale." Guy's eyes bored into hers. "He dare not touch you at Ripley's. It is the safest place for you. I will come the moment the last of the banns are called on Sunday and marry you before we leave. As Lady Gisborne, I can protect you." He reached up to his neck, grunting in pain in order to remove a long, leather thong that was tucked beneath his shirt and jerkin. He pulled on the cord. "Pull it over my head, Genevieve." He ducked down, snarling as he did so, while Genevieve removed the cord. A single, heavy ring dangled from the end. "Put it on." He watched as Genevieve dragged it over her head. 

Getting it on, she grasped the ring at the bottom and pulled it up to look. "Guy?" 

"It is my signet. The Abbess will recognize it." With his good hand, he reached into his jerkin, under the sling and pulled out a rolled piece of   
heavy parchment. "Give this to her. It will explain everything." 

"Guy, you need your signet-"

"I have my father's. Michael, you have the gold? For payment?" 

"'Tis in her bag, with her... feminine things," Lady Aedyth spoke up. "However, I doubt Hood will waylay her, if he wishes to keep his head." She winked at Genevieve.

Genevieve was working into a fine fury. All of this planned, without her knowledge, her input. She grabbed Guy by his good elbow and pulled him to the far end of the barn. "GUY! I don't wish to go! Surely, there is another way!" 

Guy's eyes turned to a dark, stormy gray. Pulling her to him, he bent over and hissed in her ear. "Let me protect you! I need to protect you!" 

"Guy-"

"I will not allow another woman I love die when I could have prevented it!" 

Somehow, Genevieve thought he wasn't just talking about Marian. "Guy, please. What if they take me back to my time before you come to get me? What then? What are we going to do? I want every minute I can get!"

His anger softened. He reached up to caress her cheek with his thumb. "Then I will die knowing you are safe." 

The rest of the party was aware something painfully significant was taking place out of their hearing. "Am I in that much danger?" 

"He spoke of torturing you, spoke of threatening me to get you to tell him all." Guy's voice lowered to a whisper, his lips caressing her ear. "He knows I have John's blessing, but he does not know where my loyalties lie. With him, or Prince John. He will do anything, include tormenting you, to find out. You will be safe at Ripley's until I can come and marry you at the proper time." 

Genevieve dropped her head, an annoyed smile on her face. "Well," her hands went to the back of her neck, "in that case, you need this." Her crucifix slid into her hands. "Lean down so I can put this on you." 

"Mon précieux, mon amour... your grandmother gave you this. It is too precious-" 

"Hush." She reached up and grabbing the ties of his shirt, pulled him down so she could hook the clasp behind his neck. "If we never see each other again, you have this to remember me." 

As the metal touched his skin when she pressed it to him, Guy was aware of a burning sensation, before the silver turned to ice and then... 

... the cross lay flat against him, pleasantly warmed by Genevieve's own hand, hidden now beneath his clothes. With his good hand, he caressed the outline of the jewelry felt, but not seen, beneath his shirt. "The moment I come to you, I will return this." 

"If so, fine." She was teary. "If not, it will make its way back to me. Eventually." 

The kiss was as sweet and as fine as any wine either of them of partaken of. 

Michael buckled a short sword around her waist before helping her into the saddle, Guy checking the stirrups and the cinch, before spreading her cloak to cover her saddlebags. The others copied the maneuver, the group now looking like Lord Reginald, his wife and several of their retainers simply going out for an early afternoon ride. "Address the Abbess as 'Mother', the nuns as 'Sister'. Speak to them as little as possible. Put your hood up. All of you. Go to the West Gate. Donald is there. He will let you out." He stepped back, watching as the group left, watching as Genevieve took one last look back...

...terrified... 

_Where did this lump in my throat come from?_

Guy then returned to Féond's stall, checking the binding on his leg and smearing more foul-smelling liniment on it before leaving through the back of the barn, heading through the back of the castle to see Rodrick keeping Vaisey company and his attention away from the West Gate. 

However, back in the barn, the sawdust stirred up by the party continued to swirl for some time, the outline of a winged woman standing in the sunlight before settling. 

_'Finally,'_ the voice was ecstatic. _'Finally! Now we have something to work with!!'_

_**~~~...~~~** _

Donald nodded deferentially to Lord Reginald and his wife, coolly ignoring their outriders. Making their way past the brightly arranged tents, those on foot who were packing, they walked their horses briskly to edge of the woods, disappearing into the green shade. Reginald and Aedyth kept a steady stream of conversation back and forth, inviting Genevieve up to chat with them. When was the wedding, did she have a dress picked out, was she going to redecorate Locksley Hall, because you know, a man's taste is in his mouth.

Sir Reginald snorted at that. 

Genevieve had a feeling she was going to be getting married wearing red. 

Had anyone told the townspeople, were they invited, who was doing the decorations, who was bringing food, did she know what kind of food she wanted? 

Genevieve realized she was definitely going to be wearing red at her wedding. 

Eventually, the group came to a fork in the road; Locksley to the left, who knew on the right. Michael rode up next to Genevieve. "We're going to Locksley to retrieve Eleanor and the things she'll have for you. Joffrey will be taking you to Ripley's Convent. When you get there, ask for the Abbess and let Joffrey do the talking." 

"I can speak for myself," Genevieve interjected. 

"Aye and well," Aedyth admitted, "but your speech is rather odd and we want this to be as easy as possible. The convent might refuse you if they think you are being persecuted as a witch. There are rules you must abide by. 'Tis only for five days."

"Guy has enough to worry about," Genevieve grudgingly admitted. 

The group nodded. Aedyth addressed Joffrey. "Meet us just inside the convent bailey. Genevieve will have changed clothes and we can find a place for Eleanor to change so no one will be the wiser that a swap has been made when we return. You have the letter from Sir Guy?" And with that, the group split up; Lord Reginald, Lady Aedyth and Michael heading to Locksley, Genevieve and Joffrey heading towards Ripley. 

It was quiet for a time, this new road strange to Genevieve. It was obvious Joffrey was leading the way, knowing exactly where they were going. 

"You won't be leaving Zeus?" 

"No, m'lady." 

_Sigh._

"What will I do if something... happens?" 

"It's in t' letter Sir Guy wrote for yew to give tew t' Abbess." 

Genevieve remembered the scroll was put in a saddlebag. _Crap._

"What is Eleanor getting for me?" 

Joffrey stared straight ahead, waiting a moment before talking. "Yerr plainer clothes. Wot yew 'ave might be considered quite ornate for t' convent. We are tryin' tew cover all possibilities. Yew won't 'ave a lady's maid to help yew dress." 

They continued at a brisk walk, the sunlight sparkling, rays breaking through what few leaves were left on the trees. It was a ray bouncing on the path in front of them that drew Genevieve's attention. 

"Wait." She stopped her horse and pointed. "What's that?" 

Joffrey stopped and dismounted, handing his reins to Genevieve. Genevieve knew exactly what it was and immediately pulled her betrothal ring from her finger and slid it down into her corset, hoping that disgusting man wouldn't try what he had before. 

"Wot? It's a... string?" Joffrey flicked the gossamer thread, almost invisible to the eye. The guard reached to his belt, removing a knife and slicing the cord.

Immediately, a clanging, much like pots and pans, banged and echoed in the forest, leaves rustled on both sides. No sooner than Joffrey was able to remount, six people materialized from behind trees and blocked the road. 

"Hood," Genevieve snarled. "I should have known." 

"Lady Genevieve. Nice to see you."

"The feeling is not mutual." 

Robin sized her and Joffrey up for a moment, tapping his lip. "You're running away." 

"Noooo," Genevieve drawled. 

"Yesssss, you are." 

Genevieve settled back in her saddle, the leather creaking. "Whatever makes you think that?" 

Hood began to tick on his fingers. "One, you're on a road that doesn't lead to Locksley or Nottingham. Two, we saw you leave with three other riders and they aren't here. Three, you're in disguise and wearing Eastbrook's colors. So obviously, you're running away. Question is, are you running from Gisborne or are you running from Vaisey?" 

Genevieve simply blinked. 

"I think," the outlaw rambled on, "you're running from Gisborne, which would be a smart thing. I told you I would help you get to Ripley's-"

"I don't need your help going to Ripley's. Guy is-"

"LADY GENEVIEVE!"

-sending me there and trust me, I am more frightened and disgusted by you than I would ever be of Guy!"

"Gisborne is hiding her from the sheriff," Tuck spoke up. "That has to be it. She's caught his attention and Gisborne is hiding her!" 

"This," Little John was glaring at Robin, "I do not like!" 

Robin's eyes never left Genevieve's. "Is this true? Gisborne is hiding you from the sheriff? How long does he expect to hide you?" 

"'Til 'e marries 'er." Allan was leaning against a tree. "'ear banns were called on Friday an' Sunday an' Nott'nham, Locksley, and Kirklee's awl got big donations f'th' poor from Giz t'speed it." He was staring at Genevieve as well, the blue of his eyes, almost glowing. "Bet this Sunday, th' minute banns are called agin, Giz an' hiz boys will be flyin' t' Ripley's." He pushed off the tree and strolled next to Little John. "Bet 'e won' ev'n wait til Mass iz done. Bet 'is orse'll be saddled an' ready to go an' 'ell jus' jump on an' ride." 

Robin looked from Allan to Genevieve. "Is this true? You're to marry Gisborne?" He was aware both lady and knight had stepped back and their horses were shoulder to shoulder. Genevieve's knees were tight and forward, unconsciously sending a signal to Zeus that battle was imminent. 

"Are you insane?" Kate rushed in front of Hood. "He's evil. Pure evil!" She realized Genevieve wasn't budging, wasn't horrified or aghast at her outburst. "He killed my brother!" 

The one thing Kate didn't plan on seeing, she saw. Pity. "I am sorry for your loss, but I would hear Guy's side before I would pass judgment. And even then, I won't pass judgment. It's not my place."

Kate drew up, her hand on her sword. "Whore! You deserved to get shot! You're just as evil as Gisborne is!" 

Hood's arm reached in front of the woman, attempting to push her behind him. "Kate, don't provoke her." His thigh and shoulder were still sore and bruised from their altercation four days previous.

"If she doesn't shut up and get out of my way, she's going to see how evil I can be!" Genevieve muttered angrily. She locked eyes on her nemesis. "Please, provoke me!" Genevieve's grin was enough to make Allan shiver.

"This, I do not like," Little John repeated. "I say we let her go." 

"NO!" Kate was adamant. "She needs t'understand! My brother was innocent!" 

"So is she!" Much interrupted, thrusting a finger at Genevieve. 

"So was Marian!" 

"No, she wasn't!" Both Much, Allan, and Genevieve yelled at the same time. Hood didn't know where to look first! 

"Marian weren't innocent!" Allan reiterated. "She wen' an fed yew everythin' Guy tol' 'er! She were yer li'l Marian-bird!" 

"He's right," Much spoke up. "She played on Guy's feelings for her to get you around him, my lord," Much wasn't about to be left out of the discussion. "You know she did. Men died because she was feeding you information." 

"But he's evil! He killed my-"

"-brother, yeah, we know, Kate." Allan broke in. "Y'remine' us every time y'git a chance! Y'know," he turned to Robin, "Sir Guy can throw a party. An' 'is men like 'im a whole bunch more'n they like t'sheriff. 'ell! T'guards at Nott 'nham like 'im mor'n t'sheriff! 'e innit a bad sort. Could be worse!"

"You would know!" 

"Now way'a' minute!" Allan pointed angrily at Kate. "That 'un gave yew up t'Sir Guy in exchange fer 'er brother! Jus' 'cause yer sleepin' wit' 'er.." 

The volume rose dramatically in the forest. Genevieve leaned over towards her guard. "Excuse me, Joffrey, but is this the same group of outlaws that Guy can't seem to catch and outwits the Sheriff?" 

"Yes, Lady Genevieve." 

"Oh dear God." The arguing escalated between Much, Allan, Kate, and Robin. "Her voice could grate marble." 

"Aye've no idea wot yer talkin' 'bout, but aye agree." Joffrey was nodding. "It 'urts me ears." 

"It hurts mah eyes!" Genevieve's accent slid into the far pits of Kentucky. 

**"HE TRICKED HER! LIED TO ABOUT THE KING SO HE COULD MARRY HER!"**

Genevieve's finger came up and crossed in front of her, wagging as it went. "That's not so, bud." 

Robin turned a furious snarl to her. "Wot do you know about it, Lady Genevieve?"

_Ah. What an asshole. I'mma gonna kick it!_

"Marian promised to marry Guy when the king returned to England, right?" 

"Yes." 

"And there were banns called?" 

Hood was breathing hard, in a fury. This made Genevieve all the more comfortable. "He lied to her in order to get her to marry him!"

"And there were banns called? It was announced?" 

"The minute she agreed," Robin gritted between his teeth. "and he lied-"

"No, he didn't lie to her. Vaisey told him the king was coming and Guy believed him." The only noise in the woods now was the sound of the wind in the trees and Genevieve's voice, which became softer. "Guy found out it was a lie, a ruse to out the nobles in Nottingham, so Vaisey would know who was loyal to your king and who was not. The minute he discovered the truth, Guy came immediately to tell Marian the king wasn't coming. It was an imposter. Except Marian was ill in bed."

"Because he stabbed her!" 

"Because she tried to rob him while disguised as the Nightwatchman. Trust me, I would shoot someone if they tried to take something I had worked for! When he arrived and saw her pale and obviously ill, he wanted to send for a physician-"

"But he had just killed a physician!" 

Genevieve shrugged. "I don't know anything about that. I just know he stated that he went to tell her the truth and her father not only told her she was ill, had fallen from her horse, but then he added she was excited about the wedding." Genevieve heard Much gasp, saw Allan turn white. Little John stepped further off the path and into the shadows, and Robin's jaw began to tick. "But I suspect you know this, because you were there, in the room, weren't you, Robin? You know I'm not lying, that Guy didn't lie to me, don't you?" Genevieve inhaled heavily before continuing. "Marian's father told Guy that Marian was excited about the wedding. He thought she wanted to marry him and was looking forward to it." 

Robin was shaking his head, unbelieving. "Why would that git think she was excited to marry him?" 

"Because her father told him she was."

"We were there," Much admitted. "You had the best view, my lord. I would never think Sir Guy would be so... tender." He looked at Genevieve. "He was tender, caring towards her." He then shook his finger at Robin. "You were angry when you found out. She would have married him. She told you he had qualities and she knew he had feelings for her." 

"He loved her. Your idiot master might not realize it, and this screeching bitch might not believe he's capable of it, but Guy loved Marian, and he wanted so badly for her to love him back." Again she waited for the information to sink in, the memory of that horrible time. "When she confronted him at the altar after Much rushed in to stop the wedding, Guy's only hope was the he could protect her and her father from Vaisey's wrath. That's what he was trying to do, protect her and her father! And what did she do? She humiliated him and he still loved her! Do you think I won't live with that ghost every single day we have?" 

She swore she could hear Much, Alan, Tuck, and Little John breathing. She leaned forward on her saddle, her face in a sneer. "Here's a little bit of icing for you to think about. Had she succeeded in killing Vaisey, who, yes, deserves to die and even Guy has stated he would love to kill him, had she succeeded, what would have happened to Nottingham? What would have happened to Locksley? Clun? Knighton? What would have happened? You know what would have happened! John would raze it, Sherwood, burn it, kill every living soul! Did you know that hours before her death, she told Guy she would marry him if he killed Vaisey right there?" 

"That's a lie."

"It's the truth! She told Guy she would marry him if he would kill Vaisey, knowing what would happen to every here if he was killed! Doesn't sound very sane to me!" Genevieve's knuckles wrapped on the saddle matched the white line around Robin's mouth. "She tells Guy she'll marry him. Hours later, she tells him there is no them, there never will be a them and she is going to marry you instead! And you," she directed this to Kate, "have the audacity to call me a whore!" 

Hood's fists were now so white-knuckled, Genevieve thought his hands would have crescent bruises from his fingernails. "Marian didn't deserve to die that way. She didn't deserve to be buried in a desert, alone! Guy has always wanted everything I had!" 

"Oh really?" Genevieve's voice was still soft, but there was a chill in it, similar to the settling chill in the air. "Guy has lived with the knowledge that everything that was his was stolen by a snotty-nosed brat who would have allowed him to hang for something he didn't do! Guy, who has struggled and fought for every blade of grass he has, who didn't have the backing or support of a town, or priest or people, or anyone to help him make decisions. Instead, they threw him and his sister to the wolves not hours after both of their parents were killed! He was hurting just as much as you! Why didn't anyone go after them? You got everything that was his!" Zeus began to prance, aware of the anger that was perched on his back. "Guy's no choir boy, but Marian isn't the saint you make her out to be! Maybe she didn't deserve to die, but Guy deserved a lot better than her! He deserved someone who would love him back and help him be the man he's capable of being and believing in him!" 

Her hands gripped the reins as she resettled and backed up. "Now, if you don't get out of my way, I am going to take Zeus and go through you! What will it be, boy?" 

Before Hood could open his mouth, Kate lit into him. "Are y'goin' t'let 'er talk to me like that?" 

**"SHUT IT, KATE!"**

Allan was inspecting his grimy fingernails. "Y'know, I'm no' tryin' t'be funny, but if yer brother 'adn't grabbed tha' sword an' attacked Sir Guy, Guy wouldnta killed 'im. 'e were jus' defendin' 'imself." 

Kate launched herself across the path, fingers aimed at Allan's throat. 

Robin went after her. 

Much went after Robin. 

Tuck gave the fighters a wide berth, taking Zeus' halter, Little John taking Joffrey's mount's bridle as well. They made their way quietly, unnoticed by the bickering so-called adults. They led them away and around a curve, continuing silently until the noise had died down and could no longer be heard. 

"Her hate runs deep, Kate's does," Little John commented. "Gisborne, I do not like, but he's no' as bad as t' Sheriff." 

"Gisborne would willingly die, if it meant peace," Tuck responded. He was aware Genevieve was listening closely, as was Joffrey. Genevieve kept her mouth shut, simply listened to the two men talk. 

"He begged Robin to kill him when he returned," Little John whispered. "He refused. Told him to live in his hell. That, I understand. But to constantly harass him..." 

"No," Tuck agreed. "It is a cruelty."

After several hundred yards, they stopped. In the glint of the sun, filtering through the trees, Genevieve could see yet another string, strung high enough for the horses to pass under, but low enough to unseat their riders. On Tuck's signal, both Genevieve and Joffrey dismounted, walked beneath the string and returned to their respective saddles. "You know the way to Ripley's?" Joffrey nodded. "Tell Guy not to take this road when he retrieves the lady on Sunday." Tuck gently tapped Genevieve on the shin. "Congratulations, my lady. I hope you bring him ease and help him to not only find forgiveness within himself, but aid him in his journey, whatever it is and wherever it may take him." 

Genevieve felt genuine concern and kindness in the man. "Thank you. I will." 

With that, they turned and galloped to Ripley's.

_**~~~...~~~** _

The Abbess of Ripley's was not happy to see a belted and weaponed guard with a rag-a-muffin, who he claimed, with his rough, peasant speech, to be a lady and dressed as a page. Two saddlebags were tossed on her table and the two were going through them. Finally, the guard - Joffrey - pulled out a scroll, handing it to the woman. Slowly, she opened it, perused the Latin written within, scowling as she reread it. Her voice was scratchy, hoarse from disuse. "Do you know what this says, child?"

"Sir Guy o' Gis-"

"Her." The Abbess was staring at Genevieve. "I want to speak to her." 

"'er speech... well... it's funny." 

"I will be the judge of that." She continued to glare at Genevieve. "Do you know what this says, child?" 

Genevieve tilted her head. "I suspect it requests that I be given sanctuary for a time." She could tell by the small smile, she was correct.

"Why is Sir Guy of Gisborne hiding you?" She leaned forward. "What have you done?" 

Genevieve looked at Joffrey, before licking her lips nervously. "The sheriff does not like me. Sir Guy and I are to be married next Sunday and he wishes to guarantee that I am alive and untortured for the nuptials." Genevieve smiled. "Mother." 

The Mother Superior tossed the scroll back on the table, the edges rolling up. "Where are you from, child?" 

Genevieve nodded her head back and forth before answering. "Far, far from here. Mother." 

Joffrey was looking decidedly uncomfortable. "Lady Genevieve, please. There is no where else to hide you." 

"Hmmm. That bad, child?" 

"'Tis th' only place t'sheriff won't come afte' 'er." 

Eyebrows rose. "Oh. That bad. Tell me, 'Lady Genevieve.' Give me one reason to grant you sanctuary." 

Genevieve began to dig in the large pouch in front of her. "It is my understanding the church will offer sanctuary to those in need. I am in need." With that, she pulled out the purse Guy mentioned and tossed it on the table. It was heavy and the coins rang noisily as it hit the desk with a thud. The leather thong around Genevieve's neck came off and followed it, bouncing twice across the furniture and coming to rest in front of the nun. Guy's signet ring was showing clearly; the black stone with an etched wolf. The woman picked it up and stared at it. "Think I can be bou-" She looked up and turned pale beneath her wimple, both Genevieve and Joffrey looking over their shoulders, afraid they were followed. "-ght." The last part of the word was drawn out. Her hand shaking, the nun pulled the bag of coins towards her, although it was obvious she was frightened to look inside. "Why are you here, child?" This time, the tone was cautious, questioning, rather than blatant and arrogant. Both Genevieve and Joffrey noticed the shift immediately. Genevieve's voice became softer as result.

"My betrothed, Sir Guy, is the Master-at-Arms for Vaisey, the Sheriff of Nottingham. He was badly injured in a joust on Saturday and Vaisey has taken a dislike to me, for some reason." 

"You speak your mind." 

"Well, yes," Genevieve blushed. "We are to be married this Sunday; however, the sheriff has been overheard making unkind remarks as well as threats and Sir Guy wishes me hidden until he can come to marry me and protect me." 

For a long time, the woman looked at her. Eventually, she moved the money pouch to the side, pushed the ring back to Genevieve, and picked up the scroll of heavy parchment again, unrolling it and rereading. Her voice was still like a rasp, not improving with use, and still grating on the stone wall, as well as Genevieve's ears. "Are you aware he has also made arrangements for you in case he does not come?" 

Genevieve's heart seized. _Not come? Not come? He had to come! He couldn't leave her here, not to become a nun..._

"No, mother." 

The Abbess saw the sudden panic in Genevieve's eyes. _So this one is not a strong or as cocky as she pretends. Perhaps, her and Gisborne's story is true._ "If he does not come to get you, a Sir Rodrick will and take you west to safety. Is this acceptable to you?" 

Genevieve swallowed hard. "If Guy does not come and sends Sir Rodrick instead, it means he is dead and I have no future here." She looked down at the stone mosaic of the floor, no one but herself realizing that by no future here, she meant this time, not this place. "It means I will be unsafe. But I will not dwell on that until the time comes. Guy will come on Sunday and before the sun sets, I will be Lady Gisborne." She was aware she was being watched closely. 

"Very well. You have decent clothing? You will not be allowed to run around dressed like a wild thing in trousers." 

"Yes, mother. This was simply a disguise to get me through the gates unnoticed. My maid is bringing my less ornate clothing for my stay here." 

"Very good. Send your man out in the corridor. There will be a novice standing nearby." She waited as Genevieve nodded. "The sisters take a vow of silence here. Do not attempt to speak or engage in conversation with anyone. Ah, Sybil. Take Lady Genevieve to the guest cottages, the one close to the chapel and garden. Make sure you bring her to sunrise mass each morning, vespers, and meals. If you need anything else, come to me." The Abbess squinted, her eyesight failing in the dim light. "You should spend time contemplating your sins, for one wonders why you have gotten mixed up with one such as Sir Guy." She fingered the scroll on her desk. "He says you have work to occupy you. You should trouble us little." And with a curt nod, she dismissed all three.

She waited, her eyes on the door, waiting for the hallway to go silent, before coming around her desk and falling on her knees on the floor. "Forgive me, forgive me." The whisper was harsh, jagged and coarse with disuse. 

Silence. 

"I see you," she hissed. "I know you are there and I fear you." 

_You see me?_

"I have always seen you. Always seen your kind. At first I feared you were a demon."

_I am no demon._

"I know." It was a murmur on the air. "Who have you come for? Me?" 

_What makes you think I have come for anyone, Abigail?_

The nun's shot up. No one had called her by her birth name in sixty years. At times, she forgot the name her mother called her. Right now, her knees were numb, knobby from years of kneeling. "The Angel of Death does not visit and leave empty handed. Ever." 

_True. Consider this warning. You will live to see the marriage of Sir Guy and Lady Genevieve. Rejoice in their happiness, for it will be short-lived for now, but will cause great ripples in the fabric that is Nottingham. You will live to see the death of the Sheriff, you will live to see the promise of many, great things. Extend all kindness to Lady Genevieve._

The nun's head was bowed again. "Tell me. Just tell me the kindness. I have given her shelter and food-"

_Show her where the library is located and the garden. Bid her to stay within the walls. Have your sisters leave her in peace. She will not desire company. She will wait and pine for her lover. She is his penance, his reckoning._

Suddenly, a cold finger of air whisked beneath the nun's chin, forcing her to look up. The angel's eyes were spinning, dizzying in colors and sparks. 

_Sir Guy and his lineage are destined for great things, but know I ride at his flank. And yours. In the near future, I will request a great favor from you. Do not think to not oblige me._

And then the room was empty, the temperature dropping. 

The woman formally known as Abigail, fell completely to the floor, sobbing.

_**~~~...~~~** _

Dinner was loud and noisy in Nottingham Castle. A few, including the Harridstons, had left that morning, but the majority of the guests were leaving the next day. Already there was talking of gambling and drinking the night away.

Vaisey was seeing crowns dancing before his eyes. So far, the House had done very well. John would be pleased. The Brotherhood would be very pleased, not realizing they were being paid with their own losses. 

Guy sat at his left, quiet and brooding as usual. His arm was in a sling and he took great care to make sure he wasn't bumped or jostled. Vaisey often considered punching him in the arm good-naturedly, just to hear him howl, however, truth was, Guy was competent in most things-

_Except Hood_

-and John apparently liked him enough to not kill him when Vaisey sent him to make excuses. Vaisey had to wonder how deep John had his claws in Guy, or how loyal Guy was to John now. He realized Guy had leaned over in order to speak softly in Vaisey's ear. 

"I have let word that you will be sending John's payment to him on Friday, however I have made arrangements to actually send it out tomorrow, along with many of the departing nobles." Vaisey was nodding in agreement. "There is an unmarked carriage we will add banners to and will have some of the guards dressed nobly. Several of my better trained guards and Rodrick's will accompany the coach dressed as coachmen." 

"Very good. You have this all planned very well." 

Guy nodded and returned to his plate. For not the first time that night, the fingers of his left hand, caressed the outline of the crucifix beneath his shirt, that lay against his skin. 

A question that had been badgering Vaisey all night finally demanded to be answered. "Where is your soon to be wife? I have not seen her all day and thought she would be out draining your coffers, preparing for your wedding." 

Again, the truth was the best with Vaisey. "She is not here." 

Vaisey's smile was slow and nasty, much like a viper. "Considering your injury, I would think she would refuse to leave your side. I thought she would baby you. Wasn't that the doctor's orders?" 

Guy continued to focus on his plate, chasing a rather evasive carrot with his knife. "She is not here." 

Vaisey leaned over towards Guy. "Gisborne! Do not tell me your lost lamb has run away! What is it with you and women?" 

Guy's hand tightened on his eating knife. "My lamb is not lost." 

"Are you sure?" 

Guy's mouth turned up in a half-quirk. Rather than duck and hide, he looked his lord in the eyes, much as he had when John sent him back to Nottingham and he had been so sure when it was over, he would be his own master and not have to answer to this snake next to him. "I am her shepherd and I know where she is. She is safe under my watch and no harm will ever find her." He leaned forward so Vaisey felt his breath when he finished. "Nor touch her." 

With that, Guy stood up and left the dining room. 

Leaving Vaisey with the distinct, uncomfortable feeling that his Master-at-Arms was moving to places without him.

_**~~~...~~~** _

****

_I know the heart that should like to please you_

_**~~~...~~~** _

**  
_Every now and then my little lamb gets lost._   
**  
**  
_I am her Shepard._   
**  
**  
_With me she is found._   
**  
**  
_She is safe under my watch._   
**  
**  
_No harm will ever find her._   
**

_This is a stereotypical oath of a loving Dominant to his beloved submissive. I would imagine it would be no stretch, with some mild rewording, for a knight and his lady._


	31. 30 ... all things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N - Thank all of you who are reading and thank you for your reviews and kudos. They are much appreciated.

_**Manna from Heaven** _

_**Chapter 30** _

_**...all things** _

Genevieve stood in the middle of the tiny cottage that had been 'assigned' to her, Lady Aedyth and Eleanor at her side, along with the young novice, Sybil.

It was not more than a room, truly. A narrow bed that didn't look comfortable. A worn, thin blanket. No pillow. A small personal area, no tub, no privacy. A solitary window with threadbare curtains that didn't let in or block much light. There was a single, slight shelf and a few pegs for cloaks and clothing; a rickety chair, a wobbly small table, a fireplace that needed stoking badly. There was no firewood. In short, it was not meant for more than an over-night stay.

"Oh, m'lady, it is so small!" Eleanor blurted. 

"Better than any of the nuns' cells, I guarantee." Lady Aedyth responded with a raised eyebrow. Sybil nodded silently in agreement. For some odd reason, my eldest daughter was so terrified her father would contract her in marriage to an old, withered man, so she decided to become a nun." She then slyly grinned. "That lasted one week!" 

"Kneeling on a cold floor too much?" 

Aedyth shook her head. "I fear my daughter has much of myself in her. Celibacy." Genevieve began to snicker. "She was caught pleasuring herself one night after hours during a late night bed check. They could not get her out of there fast enough." A strange, choking sound came from the young novice, Genevieve noticing the girl was trying not to laugh. "She very much appreciated her father's choice for husband." Aedyth didn't notice Genevieve's sudden paleness. "He was a bit older than she, fifteen years, and is good to her." There was a squawk in one of the baskets, Eleanor jumping to get to it. A black kitten jumped from the opened container, spitting and hissing, its hair standing on end. "Oh, I forgot. Sir Guy's steward thought you might need a mouser. This one has apparently been doing a fine job since it was weaned."

Genevieve scooped up the little girl. "Maleficent!" The kitten cuddled into the familiar neck. "At least I'll have someone to talk to." 

Sybil dropped her head and scuffed her toe in the rough hewn floor. "Aye'll fetch sum wood, fer t'lady." She looked up to see three women staring at her, in shock. "Aye've no' taken no vows yet," she hissed. "No' thinkin' aye'll take vows at'all!" With that, she slunk from the room, the door creaking shut behind her. 

"I dare say she toys with herself in the dark of the night," Aedyth mused. She turned to Eleanor and began to shoo at her. "Quickly. Change clothing with Genevieve." 

"Don't worry about putting things away," Genevieve interjected. She was pulling off the borrowed outfit. "It will give me something to do." 

_Not only that, I don't want anyone pawing through my personal items, which would include my iPad and iPhone._

No sooner than Genevieve handed her trousers and shirt to Eleanor, she opened the saddlebags that she and Joffrey carried with them, pulling a rather austere, unadorned black velvet dress from the top of the satchel. Despite the rush in packing, it had been carefully rolled, so there was no wrinkling. Digging further, she found a bright red sash to go about the waist. She unlaced the boots, and then pulled the dress over her head, hearing the thunk of her slippers hit the floor as Lady Aedyth pulled them from the bag. "We need at least one saddlebag for your maid's things." 

Eleanor was dressed quickly, her hands reaching for the ties in the trousers. "These feel funny," she admitted. "You need furs for your bed and a few other things." The sound of falling timber could be heard outside the door, where Sybil was dropping and piling wood for the fireplace.

"I can rough it a few nights." Nonetheless, Genevieve fingered the blanket, appalled at its roughness and thinness. "Maybe." 

Eleanor was now fully clad in the clothing Genevieve had worn and rolling her own bliaut and kirtle into the saddlebag, her eyes roaming over the room. "I'll get Joffrey to return with me this afternoon with some extra things, including some extra layers for your bed."

"No need to 'rough it'," Aedyth continued. "God knows, you will need all the sleep you can get between now and Sunday, because when Sir Guy comes for you, you'll not sleep at all for some nights." 

Before either could elaborate, Sybil entered the cottage, an armload of wood, piled in her arms.

_**~~~...~~~** _

_Deus, in adiutorium meum intende._

Vespers was about the most boring thing Genevieve had ever sat through. Definitely more boring than the Poli-Sci class she'd taken in college and that was saying something. The entire thing was in Latin! She did enjoy the singing at the beginning, 

_Domine, ad adiuvandum me festina._

but eventually, it rambled on and on, and Genevieve's mind wandered. 

_Where is Guy? What is he doing? Was he even thinking about me?_

_Chickee-poo! Where is your self-confidence?_

_My self-confidence? You should see my room! If this is how the peasants live, I'm going to have a talk with That Man! His people need to live a bit better than this!_

_Gloria Patri, et Filio, et Spiritui Sancto._

Genevieve had waited until everyone had left, Sybil quietly informing her she would come to get her for supper and Vespers, before digging into the left behind satchels. Along with the black velvet she was wearing, Eleanor had sent her blue velvet dress, with its long sleeves, her white cloak, lace-up boots. Her plainer black and gray kirtle and bliaut, along with the blue kirtle and bliaut, plainer than the velvet, to be sure, but still beautiful in her eyes. It wasn't until she pulled out the wad of black cloth, 

_Sicut erat in principio, et nunc et semper, et in saecula saeculorum._

that it hit her how dire her situation was, or how desperate Guy must have been to hide her. She shook out the over-sized poet's shirt, holding it in front of her before burying her face in search of his familiar scent. 

_Is he seeking entertainment elsewhere? Was he just bored with me and he sent me away to..._

_Magnificat anima mea Dominum, et exsultavit spiritus meus in Deo salvatore meo..._

Sometime during the evening meal of warm bread and cheese - and some of the most potent wine Genevieve had ever drunk - Joffrey or Eleanor returned onto the compound, leaving several pillows, bed quilts and furs, neatly folded, along with another pair of satchels on the bed. Not having time to go through them, she spent the more monotonous moments of the Mass, trying to guess what was in them.

_Amen. Alleluia._

She returned to her cottage after Vespers, Sybil in tow. The girl stoked the fireplace, bringing desired heat to tiny cottage, warming it quickly. She left, returning quickly with what Genevieve believed to be two buckets of water, she supposed to wash with and drink, before telling her she would come in the morning before Prime - the morning Mass - to help her dress and aid her in dressing. 

When she left, Genevieve found a small skin of wine hidden down in one of the water buckets, along with a diminutive goblet and bowl, and a kitten-sized amount of cooked chicken. Lighting the one lamp, to add to the meager illumination in the room, she first fed Maleficent the chicken and gave her the small bowl with water, and then began to unpack the satchels. She found a pair of Guy's loose trousers, laid them with the poet's shirt, before digging back in to find all the cinnamon walnuts she'd purchased, plus more. She found the purple velvet, her sketchpads, pencils, her underclothes and gym clothes. Wrapped in an oiled rag were several sticks of long, thick candles and tinder, as well as three candle holders. 

_Eleanor or Aedyth must have made note how dark this cottage would get at night._

Exhaustion finally set in. Changing into Guy's looser, too-big clothes, Genevieve crawled into bed, coiled under the many layers of quilts and furs from 

_home. Home with Guy, safe in his arms_

and fell into a restless sleep, unaware of when the little kitten curled up in the bed with her, behind her knees.

_**~~~...~~~  
** _

Morning came too early. The sun wasn't even up, nonetheless, Genevieve allowed herself to be rolled from beneath her warm cocoon, shocked when a cold, wet rag ran itself over her face.

She woke up then with a screech, informed Sybil she could bathe herself and dress herself and do not ever do that again, and bounced impatiently until the chit left so she could relieve herself in the chamber pot that she had to squat, squat, squat down on the floor for. Pouring water in it and then emptying it all out in front of the hut - and noticing the wads of tissue and her tampon had disappeared somewhere between point A and point B - she changed into the blue gown she had started the day before in.

Following Sybil back to the Chapel, she sat through Prime, trying to follow the nuns from sitting, kneeling, standing, kneeling, sitting... 

_quia respexit humilitatem ancillae suae._

before heading with the women to break their fast. Fresh bread with cheese. Milk, so heavy with cream, it curdled in Genevieve's stomach. 

_No coffee. No mead._

_Yep. I've been in complete denial. I've died and gone to hell._

She bit her tongue several times to keep from starting a conversation with anyone. 

After the meal, the Abbess nodded for Genevieve to follow her. She showed her where the small library was, informed her she was welcome there. Genevieve took in the shelves of scrolls, the dust in the air, heavy with the smell of age. She then led her behind the chapel, down rows of now slumbering gardens, back, back, back to a small gate that led into a flower garden well past its summer bloom and entering its winter sleep. Bushes had been trimmed back, but there were several archways, trees.

"A quiet area for you," the Abbess murmured. "Somewhere you will not be disturbed." The woman turned to leave. "Do not allow your kitten out of roam. Many here consider them unlucky and wicked creatures, an absurd superstition, to be sure. I will make sure it has plenty to eat." 

She disappeared while Genevieve stared at the dying beauty of the place. She stood there, until the sky grew dark, rain clouds rolling in.

She barely made it to her one room shelter.

_**~~~...~~~** _

The exodus had begun.

The bailey of Nottingham was busy, awash with merchants, who paid their taxes, members of the Black Brotherhood, paid with their own lost gambling debts, various other nobles, gambling gains or losses...

Mostly losses. 

But happy losses filled with laughter and not too many drunken fights. For that, Guy was pleased. 

Vaisey stood at the top of the steps, watching the procession, nodding, smiling, waving. Fun was had by all and, best of all, people were paid, Prince John was paid and he had coughed up none of the crowns! 

In fact, the sheriff had made a rather nice profit for himself. The only thing now was to make sure the Prince's money reached the garrison a day's travel away.

"When does our carriage leave, Gisborne?" 

Guy stood next to the sheriff, to his left. More than once, Vaisey had taken great pleasure in poking his healing shoulder and Guy's very slim patience was thinner. 

Add to that, Genevieve was not at his side. He was down right cranky!

_Who would think she would become so important, so quickly. What was going to happen when she was returned to her time?_

_What would happen to him?_

"Gisborne?" There was a sharp prod to the knight's right shoulder. "Your mind is wandering!" 

"No, my lord. It has not," Guy gritted between tightly clenched teeth. "Our carriage left twenty minutes ago." He began to smirk, much to Vaisey's discomfort. "In fact, you made much over the serving girl dressed up in borrowed finery, as she and Sir Rodrick's second departed." 

"I did no-" 

_Did sooooo...Eleanor will never forget wearing Genevieve's clothing! Even I almost did not recognize her. She is becoming quite the master of disguise!_

"I was," Guy interrupted smoothly, "completely taken aback by your impressive acting skills, my lord. One would think you truly believed the coach to be carrying members of the nobility, rather than my Lady's maid and guards." 

Vaisey's pending tirade deflated like a popped balloon. "There are enough riders, guards?" 

"Everyone in, on, driving, outriders, save the young lady, are Sir Rodrick's knights."

Vaisey turned on him, spittle flying. "Wot? None of ours?" 

Guy stared straight ahead, his familiar sneer on his face, arms crossed. "Hood knows every single one of your guards and mine. It is safer and Rodrick can be trusted." 

Vaisey leaned over. "You best hope he and his men are very trustworthy! If they are not, I will take it out of your hide!" 

_Of course, you will._

Guy was focused on the rampart. "Might I remind you, my lord, Sir Rodrick is the Master-at-Arms, and Lieutenant for Lord Senwyck, Earl of Westlund, a Marcher Lord. He did not become such by stealing money from the crown."

Vaisey didn't miss a beat. "True. Perhaps I should replace you with him!"

"Forget tha'!" Rodrick was walking up the stairs, coming up on Vaisey's other side. "Aye like Lor' Senwyck, Aye like Sir Guy. Aye dinna like yew!" He thrust a finger in Vaisey's face. "Dinna be an arse! Aye kin still take tha' damned slipper yew no be wantin' t'turn loose of! Guy! Yew be up fir a few drinks inna tavern? A few 'ands o' cards or dice?" 

"Oh, I think so." 

As he turned to leave, Vaisey grabbed his good elbow. "Gisborne, do not let your friend give you thoughts of insubordination." This caused Rodrick to snort. "If this plan of yours goes off without a hitch and John's money arrives intact at the garrison on time, I will be most pleased. I might even consider a bonus for you." 

Guy looked at him hard for a moment. _A bonus? Usually a bonus from you includes a dead body and typically the dead body is the person you promised the bonus to._ He smiled smugly. "As long as the prince's money arrives safely, I will consider that bonus enough."

Again, Vaisey clung tightly to his elbow. "What if the bonus was announcing your marriage on Friday? You could marry your leper on Saturday. Take her out of hiding." 

Again, Guy inhaled, calming thoughts. "If she were hiding, I would not know where she is. In fact, I do know where she is. A wedding takes a great deal of planning, and she is somewhere peacefully going about it." Afraid he would give her location away, he nodded to Rodrick. "Are you ready? Rather than cards, I would rather lunge Féond, work that leg of his. Anything else, my lord?" The last sentence was directed at Vaisey. 

"No. Run along, like a good Gizzy." He watched as the two knights bounced down the steps, following them as they disappeared around the corner towards the stables. "Cocky little bastard, you and your friend," he whispered to himself. "I might have to put a pole up your arse if you don't lose your attitude and soon. I made you, you'd best remember it!" 

With that, he smiled and waved the next coach off.

_**~~~...~~~** _

Genevieve spent time working on that contract she had neglected for so long. Truth was, she wanted to avoid it, but Val was adamant; she was not going to be allowed to stay. It poured for about two hours, before tapering off. Those two hours were spent in the cottage, tidying up, hanging up her clothes, making sure her bag with the things she did not wish to have seen was safely stowed beneath the bed. She swept up the pile of ash Maleficent was using instead of a litter box and thanked God there was at least roughly planked wood for the floor, instead of dirt. She refilled the kitten's water dish, fed her chicken that was sneaked to her by Sybil and a bit of cheese Genevieve herself had hidden in her sleeves at midday meal. She ate a bag of walnuts, determined to ration them, and then promptly ate a second bag. She laid out fresh ash for Maleficent, who immediately began to paw through it, slinging it hither and yon, and stoked the fire, throwing the burnable trash into the flames.

With the deluge, she felt it safe enough to dig out the contract and work on it. Who would come visit for idle chit-chat in such horrific conditions? 

_In lieu of current contracted individual employment, Seller will pay-_

_What? Now what?_

Using the small unstable table as a desk, she pulled out the notebook, lit several candles and bent over the iPad.

_In lieu of current contracted individual employment, Seller will pay relocation bonuses consisting of six months pay or six month package separation fees if contracted individuals decide not to relocate to Buyer's established office when the Buyer extends an offer..._

Genevieve leaned back. Ficklebutte's established office was in New York City. Her mind raced; which one of her employees would be willing to pack up and move there? Maybe one or two, but the majority? No. She didn't see it, and either way, the way it was set up was that she would still end up paying six months of salary to each individual...

Ranging from her mail clerk who was taking night and weekend classes to Val, who was paid handsomely and worth every penny, that was well over a million dollars. 

_And they had an office in Roswell! Why couldn't her people phase into the Roswell office? Why move them to New York?_

_This didn't make sense._

The smoke from the open candles made her eyes scratchy and while rubbing them, she realized the rain had stopped. Packing up her iPad and notebook, and making sure everything in the cottage was in its place, Genevieve blew out the candles, put on her cloak, and carefully, using the rocks that had been laid, made her way to the convent to the library. 

And found herself thinking more than reading. And looking at the illuminated art on the scrolls and admiring the beauty of the Latin she couldn't begin to figure out or translate.

[](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/ZeeDippyVessel/media/Fic%20Artwork/tumblr_mwb76q9zEz1shkavmo1_500_zps32354a74.png.html)

_...et misericordia eius in progenies et progenies_

There was a reality to life, a reality she had been ignoring for sometime here in this Nottingham. Culture, class, warfare, there was this past, this man who so quickly became so important, her future, Guy's reality, her reality...

Sybil found her in the library, brought her to the evening meal; a wonderful roast and vegetables. She had just enough time to take some of the roast to Maleficent, who purred her way through the meal, before returning for Vespers, for another long, windy-

_Ecce enim ex hoc beatam me dicent omnes generationes_

-musical mass. It might not be so bad, if she only knew what they were saying. She caught her mind wandering. She realized and pondered that while she asked Guy about returning with her to her time, deep down, she felt it was the most selfish thing in the world to do. He had a life here, one he'd planned, had worked hard for. He had status, he had wealth, he had...

He had the boss from hell, had done wretched things to achieve...

To get back what was his, what was stolen from him. He would feel as out of place in her time as she did in his and for some odd reason, she felt she was more capable of adapting to this time, than he would ever settle in to hers. What skills did he possess for the future, would he really even want to go forward with her? Face it! The man had a very narrow view of most women, of the lower classes, of...

_...quia fecit mihi magna, qui potens est..._

Returning to her assigned abode, exhaustion bore down. She wanted a bath, she wanted a bigger, more comfortable bed, she wanted a toilet that flushed and didn't sit on the ground. 

She wanted Guy. She wanted that huge, warm, possessive presence in the bed, cuddling her, holding her tightly, keeping her warm, safe, protected. Dragging her feet, she piled wood into the fireplace and stirred the embers, warming the room. She wanted a thermostat that controlled central air and heat. She wanted running water and hot water on tap! She changed into Guy's shirt, really too drained to put on the bottoms. She checked the door, saw there was a drop bar and putting it in place, effectively making sure Sybil didn't wake her like she had this morning, she crawled in bed, vaguely aware that Maleficent was sleeping in the crook of her knees.

_**~~~...~~~** _

_Genevieve's eyes shot open, the air stifling, hot, no breeze._

_'Please, I beg you-'_

_Guy!_

_His voice was imploring, pleading, a tone and pitch Genevieve had heard from him only in his sleep, during his nightmares. Quickly, she jumped to her knees, trying to find her way from the dark._  
  
 _'You disgusting pig!' Oh, so not Guy's voice. It covered Genevieve with ice, the temperature dropping, the air becoming more cloying. 'She left you, too! You miserable, despicable, creature.'_   
_  
'No! I sent her away! To safety!'_

_Genevieve's air was cut off, the ability to breathe in this cold, cold atmosphere, becoming more difficult. She realized she was in the bed in Marian's room in Nottingham and the curtains were closed._

_'She hates you. Everyone hates you. You destroy everything! You lie!'_

_Genevieve was clutching at nothingness, unable to find the curtains. Shifting gears, she felt along the mattress, the bedding, attempting to find the edge._

_'No! I told her! I told her the truth! Marian, I told her all of it! I held nothing back!'_

_Finally, she found the edge of the bed. Reaching up, she yanked the curtains to the side, a sickly light, filling the murky gloom._

_There, at the foot of the bed, Guy was bent over on his knees, his forehead pressed to the floor. A ghost, no, a demon from hell, with twisted features and claws for fingers, rising over him. The thing floated up, hovering over the man, prone on the stone floor._

_'She hates you! Loathes you! She told me so herself!'_

_'NO!' With this, the knight's head jerked up, sharp angles and planes of his face, twisted, the veins standing out. 'You lie! You lie to me, as you always have!' He reared up to his knees, equal anger on his face. 'There is no honesty in you! She loves-'_

_The fiend's features twisted further, its evil weighting the room. 'No one loves you!'_

_'I sent her away!' His shoulders fell in defeat. 'I sent her away to safety. What more do you want?'_

_'You are unlovable!'_

_Genevieve tried to speak, to yell, 'that's a lie!' but her voice refused to utter a sound, her jaw flapping uselessly._

_That's a lie...that's a lie!_

_The wall behind the spirit rippled, something unnoticed, unseen, except by Genevieve... coming... through..._

_NO! That is a lie, a lie..._

_'There will be no peace for you, Guy of Gisborne!'_

_A shape took form behind the specter. A shape in long robes._

_'There will be no peace, no joy for you!'_

_Wings spread out, an avenging angel, taking up the room-_

_'Only hell! Only-'_

_The angel slowly drew a sword, its objective clear-_

[](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/ZeeDippyVessel/media/Fic%20Artwork/30angel_by_chevsy-d53u2dq_zpsc6448a49.jpg.html)

_'No! Val! NO!'_  
 __  
'-hell?' The apparition looked up, shocked to see Genevieve, as The Angel Valoel swung back and across.

_Genevieve was aware she was screaming, Guy now turning to look at her. In their distraction, only Genevieve saw Val swing, cleaving the imp in half, smoke rising as it dissipated. 'Begone, wraith! Trouble mine no more!'_

_In that instant, Genevieve found herself flat on her back on the bed, Guy sprawled across her, his head pressed to her naked torso, her crucifix pressed between his chest and her lower abdomen._

_She could feel his tears._

_Séjour avec moi... Revenir à la maison pour moi. Je suis tellement, tellement, tellement désolé..._  
  
 _Stay with me. Come home to me. I am so, so, so sorry..._  
  
 _For what seemed like a long time, Genevieve cradled the man, fingers stroking, combing through his long, dark hair, while he muttered and pleaded for forgiveness. Finally, he seemed to drift off, deeper into a quiet rest._

_'He sent you to a convent? What on earth are you doing at a convent?'_

_Genevieve looked up to see Val standing beneath one of the trees in the garden at Ripley's. She was still in angel robes, her wings tucked behind her, but visible. Genevieve realized she herself was wearing her jeans and a NIN t-shirt. 'The sheriff doesn't like me. There have been problems. Jealous women, Val! And I can't even call them women, jealous little girls, with claws and fangs! Until Guy and I can get married, this is the safest place for me.'_

_Val stared at her, hard. 'If you are in danger, perhaps it would be best if you returned now.'_

_'NO! We're getting married on Sunday. Oh please!' It dawned on her, her office manager was hiding something from her. 'You're an angel? How did you become my guardian angel?'_

_Val nodded for her to follow, follow her deeper into a forest of dead trees. 'I am not your guardian angel. At least. I didn't plan to be. You grew on me, chickiepoo.' She waved, effectively shushing Genevieve. 'You did give me the power to release Guy from his nightmares. For that, I thank you. So would he, if he knew.'_

_The two walked quietly through the macabre woodland, misty and tiny lights playing at the roots and in the branches._

_'Why would Marian do that to him? Does she hate him that much?_

_'What you saw was not Marian.' Val stooped down to miss a low hung branch, dipping her shoulders to keep her wings from being snagged on the twigs. 'When Marian finds the time to go to him, it is to plead for him to let her go. Now that he has, demons he inadvertently invited haunt him. He cannot forgive himself and they feed on that.' Her ageless face hardened. 'Now, they will haunt him no more.'_

_'Val, where are we?'_

_'Sherwood.'_

_'Val!' Genevieve stopped in her tracks, the rustling of the leaves on the ground, stopping. 'This is not Sherwood.'_

_Val stopped, turning, seeming to grow taller. 'There is space between the centuries, space in time, a place where those who have come and gone before you dwell. A place where the fae creatures and fell creatures hide and a place where angels tread and ghosts linger. It is where dreams are cultivated and lived vicariously through thought. This place is where you and I speak of your dreams and things you need to do.' They continued to walk, the two of them watching the mist, creatures, ghosts, darting from the roots through the branches. 'How do you like convent life?'_  
  
 _'Bored,' Genevieve snapped. 'Bored out of my skull and too much time to think and dwell on things I would rather not dwell on.'_

_'Such as?' Val had now shrunk down to a more normal size, wings and angelic robes gone; she was wearing a now more suitable attire._

_It was Genevieve's turn to duck a branch. 'Oh, this damned contract. I don't want to read anymore, I'm not going to sell. But Ficklebutte thinks he has something on me and I can't for the life of me figure it out.' They continued to walk. 'I'm concerned about what he's got, what he thinks he has, how I'm going to pull it back from his grasp, how I'm going to rescue it.' She took a breath and blurted, 'I'm worried about Guy, things about him bother me! I understand, so don't go there, but it's just so much. I want him to come back with me, but I fear I'm being selfish. He would have such a difficult time fitting into my world. I want to stay, I'm scared to stay. If Richard returns to England, he'll execute Guy. Yes, we could run, but we would spend our lives looking over our shoulder.'_

_'Would it make you feel better if you knew that King Richard will never, ever step foot on England's soil again? That Guy will not die by his hand or Robin's?'_  
  
 _Genevieve stopped. 'Really?'_

_'Really.'_

_'So, Prince John will become king.' The two resumed walking through the film of fairy dust. 'I mean, I knew that. Magna Carta and all. I don't remember much.'_  
  
 _'Yes, and don't let all this silliness,' Val waved her hand as if all the fog was 'this silliness' 'fool you. He will be much more capable than history will want to remember.' Val reached up, several sprites settling on her fingers like birds before flitting off. 'Much more capable.' She pointed into the deep of the forest, a pale figure slowly gliding along, roaming between the trees. 'That is Marian. She searches for Robin.'_

[](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/ZeeDippyVessel/media/Fic%20Artwork/tumblr_mwh0a7um8T1s14bnbo1_500_zps9f144af4.jpg.html)  


_'Why?'_

_'Because, when he dies, he will die in this forest and join her.'_

_This stirred up more in Genevieve's mind. 'I don't understand this time, this culture. I don't understand the mindset, the...the...'_

_'Male chauvinism?'_

_Genevieve's hands waved uselessly in the air. 'Yes! Every now and again, That Man brings up that I need to be married with children all about my skirts! His children! Skirts? Skirts?!' She growled. 'Even doped up, he thinks a woman should be pleased to bear his children, that that is all she should care about simply because he has money and power! Why would he think so little-'_

_'Genevieve,' Val interrupted, 'this is a male-dominated world, a male-dominated society. It doesn't mean they are misogynists, or ignorant. It is simply a different culture. At this time, women have no power and a smart one will seek the protection of a powerful man. Your being here will not change that. Guy's outlook in this time will not change. I take that back, it will change and shift. And you are right; requesting that he just pick up and return with you will be difficult for him, if not impossible. It would be much more than simply culture shock. Everything our time knows and believes and breathes would be utterly foreign to him if he were just dropped into it.' Again, she stopped, turning to Genevieve with her hands behind her back. 'If it makes you feel better, while it's true Guy pursued Marian initially because she was the prettiest available noblewoman in the vicinity and yes, she had been betrothed to Robin and Guy was all about taking everything that belonged to Robin, he fell in love with her spirit and her intelligence. She made him think, made him angry, made him question.' Val wagged her finger, forcing Genevieve not to butt in. 'By the same token, he has fallen in love with your spirit, your ability to put puzzle pieces together, to question. He has fallen in love with your cleverness, your ability to say no, your skill at standing your ground. He loves that you care not for the social codes here, your ability to take control when the situation warrants it. He is intrigued by your backbone, your moxie, but mostly, your intelligence and your capability for using your brain. He is silently pleased that you stand up for yourself and refuse to back down to tyrants. He has found his conscience, his humanity, thanks in part, to both of you.'_

 

_Again, the two resumed walking, taking in the twisted wreckage of the forest._

_'I just don't understand-'_

_'Gen, why are you rehashing this? Are you having second thoughts?'_

_Genevieve's eyebrows drew down together. 'No, am I not having second thoughts! Wait! Yes, I am, but not like you would think! I have nothing to do but sit all the damn day, staring at the same four walls - which have no artwork, by the way - and I am playing the same things over and over and over in my mind!'_

_'You are over-analyzing.'_  
  
 _'Over-analyzing, my ass! Of course I'm over-analyzing! I'm chewing on a bone because I have nothing else to do and I have to wonder if he is having... second thoughts!'_

_'He is not.' The woman touched Genevieve gently on the shoulder. 'If anything, he is more determined than ever to marry you and spend as much precious time with you as possible, because like you, he knows what time the two of you have together, is precious little. You have other ways to bide your time. Do what you love. You're an architect, chickiepoo! When was the last time you laid plans for a home? Your own home?' Val began to fade, blending into the miasma of the dream world. 'You will have your wedding. Make the most of your time with him, for your time runs shorts. The better prepared you are, the better your chances of hitting the ground running to meet Ficklebutte head on. You have an entire life waiting for you back here.' Val dissipated, her form becoming a shapeless puff of smoke, unifying with the haze. 'As for Guy? We will see, we will see...'_

_**~~~...~~~** _

"Gisborne! Is your leper a witch?" Vaisey stood at the Great Gates of the Castle, peering into the rain, clinging to the only sliver of ground that remained dry.

Guy's head was pounding. The previous evening's nightmare had been particularly heinous. For not the first time, Genevieve appeared to save him, only this time...

_'Begone, wraith! Trouble mine no more!'_

_Why would an angel avenge the likes of me?_

"No. Why would you think that?" 

"Rain, Gisborne. I have never seen so much rain in all of my life. At least, not until your leper arrived." 

"Perhaps, you should return indoors, my lord." Guy was sounding oh so very bored. His shoulder was paining him, although not like it had, and it was not bound so tightly. Alric was quite pleased with his progress, but not a soul was telling the sheriff that. 

"Why? Why should I return indoors? I want to make sure that delivery made it to its destination intact!" 

Guy cupped his slung elbow with his free hand. "My mother used to say that a watched pot never boils." His smile was insincere. "We would not want you to catch cold, my lord." 

"Cold? COLD? Are you saying I have a weak... wait. Is that my coach?" 

Out of the gloom of the main road, an unmarked carriage came around the bend. The fake flags were gone and the outriders were drenched. As they drew closer, both Vaisey and Guy could see the face of the main driver, Sir Rodrick's man, grim-faced and hunched over. 

_This does not look good._

Guy stepped to the side, unlike the sheriff, who grabbed the boot of the closest outrider on horseback. "Well? Well?" 

"It wen' foine, m'lord. No problems. Let us git outta t' cold 'n wet!" The rider pushed off, heading towards the castle stables. 

"Meet us in the hall, then," Guy called up to the coach as it went by. "My lord?" 

The sheriff's visage had gone from one extreme to the other. "No problems! No problems!" He punched Guy's bad arm painfully. "Of course there were no problems! That's why I let you handle it! Inside Guy! We will get their report inside!" 

The two made their way into the castle proper, Vaisey holding a guard's cloak over his head. Guy passed Felicity as they went in, whispering for hot cider to be brought to the main hall and then to help Eleanor change and tell her to wait for him and his instructions. He fingered his sword, sheathed on his hip. 

_It went well, Vaisey promised a bonus. We will see if he remembers his promise._

"Vaisey's 'appy?" Rodrick fell in step with the Black Knight. "Aye'd ask 'im fer a boon."

"I will ask for a quiet, uneventful next week with Genevieve after the wedding," Guy was smiling. 

"Aye, t' physician said rest, which ye 'aven't dun! An' yew marryin' a bonny lass, well ye'll be gettin' no rest at awl!" Guy found himself having to keep up with the man. "Aye kinna stay 'ere long terrm." The two entered a very noisy hall, Vaisey in the center of several guards. "Ye need t'be able t'perform yer duties inna week ar tew." Vaisey's voice was rising above the din.

"There were no problems? No Hood, no bandits?" 

The guard, Vaisey was hounding had his hands up. "It went off just as Sir Guy planned. We followed the main caravan to the garrison in Leicester. All the money was accounted for. The guards at the garrison will be responsible for getting it to the garrison between Bedford and Northampton. And," with this, the man reached into his jerkin and pulled out a scroll of rolled hide, "per Sir Guy's orders," he nodded to the knight, "aye demanded and received written proof, the money were received." 

Vaisey snatched the missive from the man, opening it and reading it. His eyebrows went up. "The man even put the correct amount. Wonderful. Good job!" 

"Just followin' Sir Guy's orders, my lord." Felicity chose that moment to bring steaming mugs and the guard moved away with something warm in his hands, his job done.

"Your idea?" 

"Yes, my lord. Hood still expects it to go through the normal route on Friday. He will have a long wait." Guy also picked up a mug of hot cider, nodding to Felicity to join Eleanor.

"Pray it rains! HAH!" Vaisey began to nod, as most of the guards began to filter from the room, leaving only Vaisey, Sir Guy and Sir Rodrick. "I am pleased. You have done well." 

"Thank you, my lord. Simply doing my job." 

"Prince John will have his money, the Black Brotherhood has their money, I have money! See, Gisborne," he poked him hard in the arm, "what you accomplish when you are not side-tracked by lepers?" 

"My lord, Lady Genevieve was here with me when I came up with this plan. In fact, I have been working out the details for a week."

"Hmm." Vaisey began to squint at Guy's chest. 

"Is something wrong, my lord?" 

"Since when," the sheriff flicked the cross, hanging from Guy's neck. His hand jerked back, as if stung. "did you wear religious jewelry?" 

Using his good hand, Guy tucked the crucifix under his shirt, out of sight. "It was a gift." 

"Yes," he tapped his lip thoughtfully. "Last I saw that, your lady was wearing it. I recall she is rather attached to it." 

"A keepsake until we are reunited and joined in marriage." 

"Ah, yes, marriage." Now Vaisey was nodding. He began to tap the fine porcelain of his brew. "You know, Gisborne, I would be most... hurt... if I discovered or heard rumor that you purposely removed your lady to protect her when she is safest here or worse, you hid her from anyone." 

"My lord," Guy's voice was droll, almost bored, "between the excitement of the joust and the faire, and then the announcement of our wedding, my lady was over-whelmed by the busyness of it. Add to the fact she herself was recently injured, in addition to my injury, and I simply wished for her to find a quiet, peaceful place in order to prepare herself." 

"Somehow," Vaisey whispered, "I think your lady is stronger than you give her credit for. Or more than you wish us to know." Suddenly, his voice lifted a few notches. "Tell me, Gisborne, where do your loyalties lie?" 

"My lord?" 

The Sheriff set his cup down with such force, the bottom chipped. "Gisborne, don't play coy with me! Where do your loyalties lie? You spent an enormous amount of time in London, you've traded one leper for another, you are keeping secrets from me and I do not like it! Your pretty little head is normally empty and devoid of any original thought and suddenly, you have great plans that are executed without fault, you are marrying a woman you barely know, who seems to be good for you and to you, certainly a much better choice than The Pretty One, and I discover that your jousting skills are well-known to all but me, and you're damned good at it! Where. Do. Your. Loyalties. Lie. Gisborne?" 

Guy inhaled and smiled before answering. "I am a Black Knight and still your trusted Master - at - Arms and Lieutenant. Might I remind you that you sent me to John to make excuses for you. Did I not manage to enable you time to get money to Prince John, so he still trusts you as sheriff?" 

"Don't get cocky!" 

Guy's smile seemed to be permanently affixed to his face. "I am yours to command, save for my private life. Is there anything else?" Inwardly, Guy held his breath. 

"Anything else? Is there anything else?" Vaisey started to explode, but thought better of it. He could still reign in his suddenly mouthy Right Hand. "You know," he wagged his finger, "I promised you a bonus if this plan of yours went off without a hitch, didn't I?" Guy shrugged. Vaisey snapped his fingers for a guard to send for the castle priest and had them, along with Sir Guy, to follow him to his private quarters. Sitting down at his personal desk, he wrote out two missives. Sealing them with his personal ring, he handed them to the guard. "Take one to Father Thomas in Locksley. Take the other to the Abbot at Kirksley. Ah, Father! I have a request." 

"And that would be?" 

"I am requesting a special Mass for tomorrow morning, during Prime or," he began to snap his fingers, "what is the one later in the morning?" 

"Terce, my son, but those are typically for monasteries and nunneries. I can call a Mass anytime you wish." 

"Announce the marriage of Sir Guy and his lady. After we break our fast. I think," with this he winked lecherously at Guy, "that Sir Guy would like to move his nuptials up a few days. To tomorrow, even! Perhaps, he'll be less a stick in the mud!" 

Guy rolled his eyes, but deep inside, he shivered. Vaisey had something up his sleeve. He just knew he did.

_**~~~...~~~  
** _

Friday morning dawned cool, but sunny. Genevieve slept, dreaming of being encased by strong arms and waking crying that it was a delusion. Sybil did not come for Genevieve for Prime, instead bringing down a basket of warm bread and cheese and chicken for Maleficent, who attacked it as if she hadn't eaten in a month! Genevieve dressed in the purple velvet and after tidying the room after Sybil left, gathered up her sketchpad and pencils and headed for the garden.

_Forget the contract, that deal just so is not happening, girlfriend! Today, I am going to draw a home, a home for me, me and Guy. I don't care. I don't. I have to hope, I have to pretend we have a future, so a house, a château in France..._

_**~~~...~~~** _

Guy leaned against a pillar in the back of the chapel. The rain stopped late yesterday afternoon, so Eleanor had packed the rest of Genevieve's things, and along with Guy's jousting equipment and Féond tied to the back of the wagon, she and Joffrey returned to Locksley. With Father Thomas announcing Sir Guy's nuptials for Saturday, the town had little time to prepare. No doubt, it would not look as festive as it had for his almost-marriage to Marian, but this one... this one would most definitely be happier.

_He had been fooling himself the day he was to wed Marian. He hoped she would come to love him. He knew Genevieve did._

_She told him so. She showed him._

So this Friday morning, he stood at the back of the sanctuary, waiting for the announcement so he could leave for Locksley and begin the preparations. The wedding would take place in the chapel at Ripley's; Father Thomas to perform the ceremony. The only thing the town would have to worry about was the party afterwards.

_And he oh, so wanted a party!_

His eyes wandered the chapel, the pews. It was unusually full for a hastily called Mass, even if it was late in the morning. Usually this time was reserved for the priest's prayers; on rare occasion, a few would join him, if wanting absolution or advice. Vaisey was there, of course. Lord Reginald and Lady Aedyth, who strangely enough, he was counting as 'friends'. Winchester Junior was there. Guy didn't understand that; didn't understand why he hadn't returned to his lands, his estates. The man irritated him, was too pompous and spent time glaring at Guy. Sometimes, Guy wondered if he could catch the man off guard and dispatch him much as he dispatched his father. It was a nice daydream. Sir Rodrick, Alric, several of Sir Rodrick's off-duty guards and knights. Guy's own guards were saddled up, Zeus was saddled, ready to take him to Ripley's the moment the announcement was made. Guy didn't plan on staying one second past it. Eleanor was waiting in Locksley with the red dress Guy wanted Genevieve to wear and anything else she thought Genevieve would need. Rodrick, Alric, Aedyth and Reginald had requested to attend. If Vaisey wanted to come, he'd better keep up. Guy bathed this morning, his hair still slightly damp. Genevieve's wedding band was strung on the thong with his father's signet. Everything was quietly falling into place. Just as it should. No Vaisey surprises, no insanity, no Hood, no ghosts - who had been gloriously silent since Genevieve showed up in his nightmare and that avenging angel had cleaved it in two.

The priest was droning on and on. Guy almost fell asleep and in truth only heard the final part of the announcement. 

"... to wed Lady Genevieve. If there be anyone who knows why Sir Guy and Lady Genevieve should not be-"

Before the priest could finish, Winchester Junior shot up from his pew. "I cannot stay quiet! I say Lady Genevieve has beguiled Sir Guy with devilry and unknown magicks! I demand she be tried as a witch!"

_**~~~...~~~** _

_**I know the heart that should lie to appease you** _

_**~~~...~~~** _

__  
Deus, in adiutorium meum intende. Domine, ad adiuvandum me festina. Gloria Patri, et Filio, et Spiritui Sancto. Sicut erat in principio, et nunc et semper, et in saecula saeculorum.

_Amen. Alleluia. (O God, come to my assistance. O Lord, make haste to help me. Glory to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit. As it was in the beginning, is now, and will be forever. Amen. Alleluia.)_

**_The Magnificat_ **

_Magnificat anima mea Dominum,_  
et exsultavit spiritus meus in Deo salvatore meo,  
quia respexit humilitatem ancillae suae.  
Ecce enim ex hoc beatam me dicent omnes generationes,  
quia fecit mihi magna,   
_qui potens est,_  
et sanctum nomen eius,  
et misericordia eius in progenies et progenies  
timentibus eum.  
Fecit potentiam in brachio suo,  
dispersit superbos mente cordis sui;   
_deposuit potentes de sede_  
et exaltavit humiles;  
esurientes implevit bonis  
et divites dimisit inanes.   
_Suscepit Israel puerum suum,_  
recordatus misericordiae,  
sicut locutus est ad patres nostros,  
Abraham et semini eius in saecula. 

_My soul doth magnify the Lord : and my spirit hath rejoiced in God my Saviour._  
For he hath regarded : the lowliness of his handmaiden.  
For behold, from henceforth : all generations shall call me blessed.  
For he that is mighty hath magnified me : and holy is his Name.  
And his mercy is on them that fear him : throughout all generations.  
He hath shewed strength with his arm : he hath scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts.  
He hath put down the mighty from their seat : and hath exalted the humble and meek.  
He hath filled the hungry with good things : and the rich he hath sent empty away.  
He remembering his mercy hath holpen his servant Israel : as he promised to our forefathers, Abraham and his seed for ever. 


	32. 31 - Hopes...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chapter is art heavy. Sorry.

_**Manna from Heaven** _

_**Chapter 31** _

_**Hopes...** _

It was a beautiful, sunny, if cool, day. Sybil allowed Genevieve to sleep in, missing the morning mass, bringing her a late breakfast, along with chicken for Maleficent. Before departing back to the Abbey, she told Genevieve she was no longer required to attend Prime, but the Abbess would be appreciative if she continued to attend Vespers. Or Compline, whichever she chose.

For this, Genevieve was very grateful. Early morning in a chapel with female Gregorian Chant rising gloriously in the rafters was, while beautiful, boring as dried and flaking mortar. And it was early. And the sun wasn't even up! And it was longer than Vespers and she was hungry because it was before breakfast, breakfast with no coffee or morning mead, which was simply unbearable. 

_Two more days, chickiepoo. Two more days..._

After Sybil had deposited more wood in the hearth and outside the door, she considered wearing the plainer gray and black outfit, but eventually Genevieve changed into the heavy purple velvet, the low-hanging belt slung down on her hips. Eating the warm, crusty bread and cheese, she filtered through her personal things on the bed. She picked up the contract and set it back in her bag. It didn't matter what it said; she wasn't selling! Period. All of it and the damned addendum was a moot point. 

_Contract, my eye. It's not happening! No sale, bucko!_

Moving things back into her gym bag, she picked up her sketchpad and pencils, along with two bags of walnuts, just for good measure. For a moment, she lingered over her iPhone and iPad, before picking both of them up and setting them with the sketchpad. Sliding the bag back under the bed, she grabbed her cloak, hooking the broach, grabbed her laid aside things and opened the door. 

It was crisp out and shuddering, she pulled the cloak closer to her body, grateful for it and thankful for the heavy warmth of her dress. She stepped into the sunlight and pulled the door shut behind her.

_Today, I'm going to dream and pray I have a future with this obstinate man. I'm going to pretend we're going to France and we're going to start a winery. I'm going to draw a home for me, me and Guy and I'm going to pray they let me stay, because he won't fit in my world. He would be lost. I have to hope there's a solution. And I'm going to read! I'm going to read about broody, dark knights and learn about this time the best I can._

And with that, she set off down the path, in search of a bench and peace.

_**~~~...~~~** _

The entire room was silent. A person could hear the dust fly, if they tried.

"Wot did you say?" Guy hissed.

Winchester inhaled and smiled grimly. "I said I demand Lady Genevieve be tried as a witch!" 

Vaisey looked shocked; truly shocked. "I had nothing to do with this, Gisborne. I swear that as truth." For the first time since their return from the Holy Land, Guy believed the man. 

The priest was looking at Winchester, then Guy, then Vaisey, back to Guy. He cleared his throat nervously. "Witchcraft is a serious charge, my son. Regardless of the outcome of a trial, she will die." 

"Then let her die, if it proves her innocence!" The man's speech was impassioned, even if he was wrong. "If she is a witch, which I think she is, then let her go straight to hell and release this good knight from his folly!" 

Winchester squeaked like the mouse he was when he was suddenly yanked out of the pew by the back of his tunic and thrown hard into a pillar. Even weakened with one arm bound tightly to his chest, Nottingham's Black Knight was still a force to be reckoned with. Before he could say another word, Guy's sword was drawn, the tip pressing to the man's throat. "You will take back what you said and you will take it back now!" 

The priest continued to attempt to calm both noble and knight. "Sir Guy, please sheath your weapon. I am sure we can clarify this matter to everyone's satisfaction." He cleared his throat again. "Sir Guy, please. This is a House of God, the very boards are consecrated and murdering someone within the walls-"

Guy pressed the tip further to the skin of the man. "I am already going to hell as it is, Father. Your piety makes no difference to me, however," and with this, he gritted his teeth in a painful grin at Winchester, "perhaps the Almighty will grant me penance if I dispatch this despicable liar regardless!" 

Winchester was now a sickly shade of green. 

“Sir Guy,” the priest was at his shoulder, his voice shaking oddly, “there are people here. What will they think, a respected,” Guy snorted at that, “knight, murdering an Earl?”

_At least he didn't say 'respected Earl'._

“What people think of me, I cannot do anything about. What is done, is done and if killing this liar sends me to hell, then so be it.”

"Sir Guy, please," a shaking hand laid itself on the top of his broadsword, attempting to push it aside. "Shall we clear the chapel and then discuss this like grown men?" 

Guy never wavered, never lowered his sword, eyes never left Winchester's. "Everyone needs to leave," he spoke loudly. "This life I will take is mine to take and mine alone. It will be ugly, drawn-out, and painful to watch. I am going to dismember him, one piece at a time, starting with his treacherous, prevaricating tongue. You have one minute." 

The noise was that of a stampede, footfalls loud, quickly dissipating as they left the chapel and thundered down the hallway. 

Silence. 

"Shut the doors." Guy waited until he heard the click. "Who is left to witness this pathetic excuse of a human being's demise?" 

Again, the priest's hand was laid on the flat edge of Guy's sword. "Please lay your weapon aside. We can discuss this now before any action is taken; undo what needs to be undone." 

Guy's sword did not budge; his eyes continuing to pin Winchester to the post as well as his blade.

"Who is here?" 

The priest sighed. "Besides the three of us, the Sheriff, Sir Rodrick, Lady Isabella, Lord Reginald and Lady Aedyth." 

"I," Vaisey spoke up, both hands in the air, "am only here in an official capacity. If Sir Guy kills Winchester for his slander," his gaze was now a steely as his Master-at-Arms, "then I will try him for it." 

"I am a nobleman and out-rank this knight," Winchester reminded the small group.

"But you have also laid a serious charge against his lady, which, if it is a lie, which I think it is, is a more severe offense, one which The Church, nor I will take lightly." Vaisey was now sitting on the arm of the pew and was picking his nails. "She might be a leper or a lost lamb, but I have seen no proof of witchcraft in her. If anything," he sneered, "Sir Guy has..." he searched for the right word and apparently was disgusted when he couldn't find it, "risen to the occasion most valiantly since meeting her. And as the law in this part of England, my justice outweighs your rank." He slapped his hands on his knees. "Oh, for God's sake, Gisborne! Put your weapon away! You're making me nervous!" 

Slowly, Guy lowered his weapon and sheathed it, something he was discovering was difficult to do one-handed. 

The priest exhaled gratefully, Winchester's hand going to his throat and rubbing it. "Well, good then, that's taken care of. So then,” the clergyman continued, trying to get to the bottom of this without having to call out or hang anyone, “why are you accusing Lady Genevieve of witchcraft? What proof have you?" 

The man blinked rapidly. It was obvious he hadn't thought this far ahead. There had been an old beggar woman on his lands who had been accused of giving the evil eye to her neighbor as his cow stopped giving milk. No one asked for proof; the village priest simply dunked her until she died. 

Of course, the cow died the day after the old woman was put to death, but that was of no consequence...

"Well," the man began to think with much haste, "she speaks with a strange tongue." 

"First thing I will do when this farce is complete," Guy whispered, "is cut out your tongue and we will see how strangely you speak!" 

The priest - what was his name? - cleared his throat. "She is not from here. Sir Guy," he mumbled, "do we know where she is from?" 

Feeling the weight of the church on him, Guy felt the need to tell the truth as vaguely as possible. "She feels she is from overseas. I concur."

_There! That should be vague and truthful._

"Aye!" Winchester agreed. "From other lands! Sir Rodrick was overhead stating that she was from an Eastern tribe. Obviously, she is a spy for the Infidels!" 

"Och mon! Kill 'im now!" Sir Rodrick stood up and pulled his dirk. "Aye will dew it fer ye if ye no' t'stomach fer it!" 

The priest put his face in his hands before moaning, "Please, Sir Rodrick. Your weapon, please." 

"I have heard the speech of the Infidel," Guy confided softly. "That is not the language she speaks."

Winchester was now on a roll, ignoring Guy's clenched fist. "She fell from the sky. Witches fly! Everyone knows it! Obviously, she fell from her broom!" 

Guy turned his glare to Vaisey. Again, both hands were up, palms skyward. "I think perhaps that story is an exaggeration, spoken and spread by an inebriated, young man,'' the sheriff beamed. "I don't know a sane man who believes that!" He stood up and tucked his hands beneath his arms, pacing slowly towards the altar, his back to the situation. "I suspect she was hiding from outlaws up in a tree, lost her balance and fell, making it seem as if she fell from the sky." He was now tapping his lip thoughtfully. "That sounds much more plausible, don't you agree, Gisborne?" 

_What is Vaisey up too?_ "Aye." 

Rodrick snorted. "If she fell frum t'sky, tha' wuld make 'er an angel, no' a witch! If she were a witch, she'da sprung frum t'ground, no' fell frum above!" He backhanded Guy's good arm. "Aye still say we cut out 'is tongue an' nail it tew t'door!" 

Winchester was losing ground and losing it fast. "She cast an evil eye on the Harridston sisters! Lady Marilda said she was rude at the joust and cursed her and her sister-"

"Mary! Mother of God!" That came from Lady Aedyth. 

"Aye dun thin' Jesu or 'is mum 'ad anythin' t'dew wit' it!" 

"Sir Guy," Winchester was trying to build momentum. "I am doing this for your own protection. The woman has a beguiling nature-"

"Now, we're getting somewhere," Lord Reginald inhaled. He gestured to his wife. "Shall I do the honors, or shall you and bring this shameful farce to an end?" 

"-and as a black knight, you have a responsibility to marry high and noble-born, not some... some..."

"Lost lamb," Vaisey supplied.

"Lost...la... NO!... some... common strumpet from God knows where!" 

"You," Guy spoke up, his hand returning to his sword, "are going to die painfully. Should I start with your tongue or with your toes?" 

Lady Aedyth stepped forward. "It would probably be best coming from me. Sir Guy," she spoke up, "please step aside." 

"Lady Aedyth-"

"I said 'step aside'." The woman was quite firm and Guy was familiar with *that* done of voice. Doing as she bid, all watched as she stepped in front of the-

_**!CRACK!** _

Much like she had the Harridston chit, she struck Winchester in the face with an open palm, his head rocking back and thumping twice on the post. "You moronic twit! If anyone has been beguiled, 'tis you!" 

One of Winchester's hands went to his cheek, the other, to the back of his head, his mouth in a perfect 'o'. 

Guy turned his back, his arms crossed and a smirk on his face. He nodded to his sister and mouthed, 'You are next!'

Isabella slunk behind the sheriff. 

"My lady-"

"Do not give me that 'my lady' twaddle! Both Harridstons have been quite vocal about doing whatever it took to remove Lady Genevieve! I am not surprised they would be brainless and cruel enough to stoop to such stupidity, but that you would allow yourself to be swayed by either one-"

"Lady Aedyth," Winchester leaned in close and hissed, his voice however still carrying throughout the excellent acoustics of the chapel, "Lady Clarae feels entitled-"

"Entitled?" Aedyth scoffed. "Entitled to what? A titled and landed knight because 'tis her due?" She put her finger in his face. “Before you begin with the cursing business, Lady Genevieve called them bitches. So have several other people, including myself and my husband, in private. The name is well-earned!”

Winchester stood his ground, his face, immobile.

"Well," Aedyth sighed. "I have tried. My lord," she was now addressing her husband, "how say you we handle this?" 

"Winchester," if anything, the man sounded bored, "when did you offer for the youngest one?" 

"I do not see what-"

"My lady, step aside now." Reginald motioned to both Guy and Rodrick, swords quickly unsheathed and tips against Winchester's throat. The priest began to make sounds of a drowning man. "When did you offer for the youngest one?" 

Winchester gulped, eyes on both swords. "Right after their arrival." He gulped again. "I met her at a summer boar hunt in York, but her father asked me to wait until closer to Yule." 

"And what were you told when you asked this time?" 

"To wait." 

"Until?" 

Angry eyes found Guy's. "Until Sir Guy made his decision." He sneered. "I would be allowed to court the one not chosen." 

"Oh dear, sloppy seconds," Vaisey implored the rafters, "are always the worst! GISBORNE, PLEASE! Either kill him and be done with it or do not! Nothing that has come out of Father Harold's mouth in the last several minutes has sounded even vaguely human!" 

"He sounds like he's giving birth," Aedyth whispered loudly to her husband, who found the comment amusing.

Father Harold finally found his bearings and tired of being mocked. Rising up, he charged up the aisle. "Sir Guy! Sir Rodrick! You will lower and sheath your weapons this minute! Would you like to marry your lady sometime today?" Guy's eyes shifted to the priest. "Good. Lower your weapons now. I am fed up with audacity and disobedience of children!" He waited until both swords were lowered. "My Lord," he addressed Winchester, "do you wish to continue this... charge... of which if you do, I will also call out the Harridston chits for witchcraft, as yes, even I heard them conspiring against Lady Genevieve as well, or will you have a change of heart and rescind this idiocy? Because trust me when I say this, if you do not, I rather doubt you will live the day! Lady Genevieve is, yes, very unconventional, but the only sin I see in her is the fact she is cohabitating openly with Sir Guy and marriage will correct that soon enough." 

For a moment, Winchester searched the room for a single supporter and found none. He smiled sarcastically, realizing he was alone in his stupidity. "My God. Did you think I said witch? You need to clean out your ears, Gisborne. I said your lady was a bitch. She is a bitch! No need to dunk her for that." He rubbed his throat and muttered, “God knows, the two of you deserve each other.” 

Before Guy could pull his sword again, Rodrick clasped his shoulder. "Aye'll beat 'im later. Rahght now, yew've a weddin' t'attend tew." 

Guy shrugged before heading to the chapel doors. 

"Brother, is your own sister not invited?" 

Guy stopped, breathing deeply. "Isabella. I did not think you could stomach being in a convent. Even for a short time as a guest."

"Ripley's?" Vaisey was screeching. "You hid her at Ripley's?" 

“She did not hide. I knew where she was at.” Guy smirked. "The wedding will take place within the next two hours. Of course, you are invited, Isabella. All of you are." Before exiting, he pointed at Winchester. "Except you. If I ever see you again, I will call you out for the liar you are." He smacked the frame as he left. 

Rodrick growled at him before following. "Wait fer me, yew over-bearin' skull-digger!" The rest of his curse was lost in the hall. Aedyth, Reginald, and Isabella followed quickly after.

Vaisey made as if to follow, but instead closed the doors and slithered back to post that Winchester was leaning on. "You know, I mentioned the other night about how unsuitable Lady Genevieve would be for Sir Guy." 

"I know." 

"I mentioned trying to frighten her - women frighten so easily, especially if she thinks her protector or beloved is being threatened - to find out her secrets that I think she hides." 

"I know." 

"I never thought anyone would be so ridiculous as to declare she is a witch." 

Winchester swallowed hard. "Bitch. I said she was a bitch." 

Vaisey nodded. "And now he is going to marry her. At least Gisborne knows how to throw a good party, even on short notice." He started to walk back towards the door, but stopped, backing up. "Refresh my memory. Your father was killed by outlaws, correct?" 

As the sheriff watched, the man's hands clutched the edges of the post he was leaning against. His knuckles were white. "Yes. His coach was found wandering without his coachman or outriders." 

"Oh, really? Was his body found? I simply heard he had died." 

"His body was in the coach. He had been stabbed." His gulp was audible. “He was carrying no money and his personal rings and jewelry were on his body.”  
 _  
Damn Hood. I could have blamed his murder on him had he been robbed._ Vaisey raised up on his toes. "I see. Well, take my advice. Gisborne or his friend Rodrick will most likely kill you or make you wish you were dead when they return." He leaned into Winchester's ear. "Probably Sir Rodrick. I suspect Gisborne will be occupied with his lost lamb for a while. He is rather fond of her and it is his wedding night. If I were you, I would pack up and leave for your estate as soon as possible. In the next hour or so, in fact. Take the back roads, as Hood thinks John's money is being transported today, so the roads in Sherwood are most likely being watched. In fact, I would head in the opposite direction and then circle back the long way. If you are so besotted with Harridston's lepers, go ahead, stop by his estate, and make him an offer. If the Brotherhood gets together again, I will make sure Gisborne is engaged elsewhere." He clapped him on the shoulder. "Too bad you'll miss the party." He wrinkled his nose. "Do change your clothes before you leave. I believe you've shat your small clothes. Father Harold?" 

"You are going to the wedding?" 

"Dear God, no! Nuns! Singing and blathering all the time." The man shuddered. "Just the party for me. Join me! At least the wine will be good!"

_**~~~...~~~** _

In the far back reaches of the garden, Genevieve found a bower of sorts, with arched openings, covered in dried vines with a few very late blooming roses climbing the outer walls. Despite the chill, the aroma, the breeze was clean, the memory of the strange, over-powering smells of Nottingham and yes, Locksley and the people, dissipating in her mind. She entered the gazebo, enthralled to find several benches and what looked to be a fire pit in the center.

"That is too much of a coincidence!" she exclaimed loudly, jumping at the sound of her own voice. 

"It is, isn't it?" 

Genevieve jumped again, turning, to see a short, elderly nun behind her. The woman had a cherub face and twinkling blue eyes. "You spoke?" 

She leaned forward, as if imparting a secret. "I did not take vows of silence!" She pointed to the fire pit. "There are some dry branches here, but I will bet the walnuts in your satchel that there are more branches outside to the left that if coaxed properly, will warm this place for several hours!" 

Genevieve frowned. "How did you know I have walnuts in my bag?" 

"An old woman knows." She shooed the younger woman. "Go on. To the left, child." 

Sure enough, there was a pile of branches, obviously the dead clippings from several bushes that had been pruned recently, but not disposed of. Carrying them back into the gazebo, the old nun already had a small fire built. Taking the branches from Genevieve, she fed them carefully to the ever growing flame, quickly warming the little alcove. "There!" She dusted her hands off and held them out to the soon-to-be bride. "Come sit with me and we'll eat sweet walnuts and talk!" 

Genevieve wasn't sure she trusted this nun who spoke where none were supposed to speak. But she didn't distrust her either. Regardless, she allowed the woman to lead her to a bench and sat down, only to realize she had her nose over the bag and was opening it. Genevieve suddenly wondered how she was going to remove the bags of nuts without the woman seeing the other-

"What strange things, child." She held up Genevieve's iPad and iPhone. Quickly Genevieve snatched them and tucked them between her legs, pulling her cloak over them. The nun made a moue with her mouth. "Oh, child. You're not from here. Do not worry." She patted her on the hand. "I am not from here either! No need to hide them." 

Genevieve smiled wanly.

The nun settled back and smiled. "My name is Anne. Truly, it is Anael, but most here call me Anne. You are Genevieve."

"You know my name?" 

"Darling child," she plucked a bag from Genevieve's satchel, opened it and singled out a walnut, popped it in her mouth and savored it. "These are divine. You should make sure that dark, broody knight of yours keeps you in them!" 

The woman was too happy to be a nun! "If he keeps me in them, I'll become beyond fat and sassy!" Genevieve took the second bag and dipped into it. "You know my name?" she repeated. 

"Of course, I know your name. Genevieve of Not-From-Here. You have done the impossible." 

"And what is that?" 

With this, the nun's smile was almost... loving. Ethereal . "You did something none of us thought would happen."

Genevieve dropped her eyes, now concentrating on the bag. She threw some walnuts into her mouth. "And what would that be." 

Gentle fingers found her chin, lifting her face. "You fell in love with a man and taught him not only to love again, but there is some good in this world, if one looks for it.” 

There was something about the old woman in front of her, the way she looked at Genevieve...

"Sister Anne, do you believe that there are those who entertain angels unaware?" 

The woman tucked her hands back into her lap and laughed, disturbing the blue butterflies clinging to the rose vines. "I know for a fact that they do. Do you believe you've entertained angels?" 

It was quiet for a moment while Genevieve thought. "I shouldn't talk about it. There are those who think I'm a witch." 

Again, Sister Anne leaned forward. "Genevieve Robinson, you are not a witch and these people are superstitious and ignorant. Do you believe you have entertained angels?" 

Genevieve's response was barely whispered, consonants hanging on the wind. "I think I'm entertaining one now." Her head shot up, looking at the nun in the eye. “You are not of this world, are you?” 

The woman smiled. “And you do not belong in _this_ world, _this_ time, do you Genevieve?” She wagged her finger playfully."You are an intuitive young lady. You will definitely keep Sir Guy on his toes." 

Genevieve frowned, her face flush with anger. "Why? Why me?" 

Anne - Anael - smiled. "Why not you?" Genevieve was not moved, so she sighed and continued. "Do you not think that The Almighty watches over his children? All of them? That he wants the best for each one of you?"

"I do not believe that God personally interferes or manipulates our lives." 

Anael wagged her head, continuing to eat the walnuts. "No, he doesn't. That's why his angels do. So," she continued on, "are there any other angels you think you've entertained unaware?" 

"Yeah, I think my office manager is one." 

"Really?" The angel turned nun turned and addressed the blue butterfly on her shoulder. "And what makes you think that?" 

This conversation was not only odd, it was beyond surreal. “Well, besides the fact she shows up in my dreams to give me advice and she showed up in wings and a sword last night.”

Anael cocked her head sideways in thought. “Does she have a name?”

"Her name is Val. Val Oelle." 

The angel pursed her lips before smiling. "Oh yes. She is one. Most definitely. Angel of Calming Influence and Wise Decisions." She looked up at the woman across from her. "Did you say your office manager?" 

"Aye, that and she has told me she has dealings with the Angel of Death. Which makes me think I'm really dead and this is some sort of way station until someone, somewhere decides where I'm supposed to go." 

The sky darkened for a moment, before Anael answered her. "First off, never lie to an angel. We know. You know for a fact why you are here and what your purpose is. Had it been left to certain members of the angelicy, you would have spent several days at a table in the heavenlies, figuring out your little problem." She tapped the iPad in Genevieve's lap. "Dourma thought the scenery here would be much nicer." 

“Dourma?”

“The Angel of Death.” The little nun/angel sat up straight. “I think Dourma thought about your change of scenery correctly.”

"Oh yeah, right! Guy is very nice scenery. Which reminds me," Genevieve was pushing the point. "If my office manager is an angel, why doesn't she knows what's in that contract? The man trying to buy my company thinks he has something over my head! Why did I have to come here and fall in love with a man I'm not going to be allowed to live my life with, if my office manager – angel - knows what's in that contract?" 

"We are angels. Not God." It was terse, something Genevieve thought didn't happen very often with this particular angel. 

“Sorry.” Genevieve dropped her head, feeling much like a contrite puppy. 

Anael was watching her closely. “Are you regretting falling in love with him?” 

“You know,” Genevieve snapped, “the one thing you shouldn’t be left alone with at night or long periods of time, is your own thoughts. They eat you alive until the next morning!” She put her hand up. “I'm sorry. No. No, I'm not.” It took Genevieve a moment to respond. “No. He's had such a difficult life, done things that should shock me, have shocked me.” She took a breath before continuing. “This time, this place is so-”

“Cruel,” the angel finished for her. “It is. Cruel and heartless at times, but no less cruel and heartless compared to your time.” She thrust up a finger and wagged it. “Think about it, Is this place more mean, crueler than your home in Atlanta? In Kentucky? Are there not ‘mean girls’, ruthless businessmen who will lie and deceive to take what is yours? Your own time is just as cruel, just as vindictive as this one. The only difference is the technology, the progress, and the fact that Southerners are a bit more gentile when they shove the knife in your back. Oh yes, they are smiling at you and calling you ‘sugah’ and ‘honey-lamb’ and oh just bless your heart, but they still stab you all the same. They steal, they take what you worked for. Some want to destroy you simply because you aimed higher than they think you should have. Has the government changed at all? A corporation wants another so they buy them out or take them over. The Sheriff of Nottingham took lands from an earl illegally and gave them to his Master of Arms to reward and bind him to him, make Guy of Gisborne beholden to him. And Guy happily took stolen, confiscated property because he wanted that little handful of power; he wanted back what was taken from him years ago. He wanted back the land that Robin took from him, years ago.” She was quiet for a moment, allowing it to sink in. “And he desired the love of an uncommon woman, because women are supposed to be drawn and attracted to powerful men, men with property, wealth. He remembers being poorer than dirt, wondering when his next meal would be. He lost everything, but he scratched and scraped and watched and waited to hopefully earn power because in this time, now,” she pointed to the ground to prove her point, punctuating each word with a thrust, “power is respect. It is everything. It separates the rulers from the masses, the strong from the weak, the haves,” and with this her voice dropped, “from the have-nots. Of everything Guy of Gisborne wanted,” she implored, “he wanted respect. Every one he respected when he was younger had power. And he wanted to be loved back. He remembers being a have-not.”

Genevieve smile was slightly sour. “Thanks for lesson in compare and contrast.”

Anael blushed slightly. “You have limited time with him and things about him eat at you. I can sense it. Until you have seen someone's darkness, you don't really know who they are. Until you have forgiven someone's darkness, you don't really know what love is.” She leaned over and patted Genevieve's hand. “You have limited time to find your answers. You need peace to do it. But you also need to help him find his answers as well.” Suddenly, cool hands encompassed her face, framing it, forcing Genevieve to look at her. “Do not be afraid to love him, do not be afraid to tell him you love him or tell him what he needs to hear, even if he does not wish to hear it.”

“But-”

“He will never harm you. And not because he does not love you, but because he does. Do not be afraid. Do not fear Marian's ghost. She will not come between you. It will work out, I promise. Your middle name is Faith for a reason. Have faith.” She stood up and stepped backwards. “Carpe Diem!” She began to wander around the atrium, heading towards the opening. She turned around one last time. “Or with him? Carpe nocte!”

A blue butterfly flittered around Genevieve's face, tickling her nose. She giggled and brushed at it. She was distracted for only a moment, turning back to thank the old woman. “I’d rather seize the man, thank you ver-”

But she was gone. 

“-y much.”

She pulled her iPhone and iPad from between her legs. Laying them in front of her, she pulled her notepad and pencils from the bag and opened it to blank page. 

“Home first, or perhaps...Hmmm. What to draw first, what to draw.” She began with bold strokes, the outline of a beloved face, taking shape.

_**~~~...~~~** _

“No' tryin' t'be funny, but t'wagon fer t'garrison shudda been through by now.” Allan was leaning against the tree, picking his nails. He was sporting a bruise by his eye, where Kate had punched him three days previously. She still wasn't speaking to him and he privately considered that a blessing.

“I think you're right,” Robin was leaning against a nearby tree. “Boys, I think we've been had. Either that convoy has taken another route or it's gone out a different day.” 

There was a noise, rustling, from across the path, Kate appearing from the brush. “Robin! News!” Looking both ways and hearing nothing else, she crossed the road and made her way to the line of ambush. “The priest in Locksley made a third announcement of Gisborne and his strumpet's marriage!” 

“Cast ye no stones...” Tuck's voice whispered.

“If it were announced in Nottin'ham an' Kirklsley as well...”

Kate was flushed. “Locksley is setting up for a party, a big 'un!”

It didn't take a lot to put two and two together. 

Suddenly, the sound of hoofbeats echoed through the forest. Robin looked upward, where Much was hidden, high in the tree and had not heard any of the discussion. 

“It's just Gisborne and that Sir Rodrick fellow. They aren't carrying... wait... Joffrey and Michael the Red are flanking and Lady Genevieve's servant and several others...dear God! Father Thomas is bringing up the rear on a mule!”

“Gisborne's getting married!” Robin set his bow and began to pull arrows. “What say we make him late?” His arm was grabbed by Tuck.

“What say we don't.” Tuck was shaking his head. “We have discussed this. You are not God. There will be a lot of people in Locksley, eating.”

“Not to mention,” Much spoke up, “everytime you interfere, Lady Genevieve gets hurt!” 

Robin flapped his jaw, ready to remind his manservant that the last time he was alone with Lady Genevieve, she wasn't the one who got hurt, however Allan piped up.

“An' Nottin'ham Castle will be ripe fer pickin'!” 

The riders drew closer, the gang all hiding behind the trees and waited for them to go by. It took a few moments for the dust to settle. Once it was obvious the entire wedding party had passed, Robin motioned them together. “Much, Allan, Kate, and Little John, go to Locksley and find out what you can; see who's coming to the celebration. Tuck and I will keep an eye on Ripley's. Once the sheriff arrives, head to Nottingham Castle and take what money you can. Rumor has it, the sheriff made quite the profit! We'll make sure he shares the wealth! If Clun and Knighton aren't taking part in the celebration, make sure you take enough food for them. We'll join you later in Nottingham.”

_**~~~...~~~** _

The breeze was cool and beginning to blow harder, keeping the fire burning in the little gazebo. Once, Genevieve got up, retrieved more dead branches and fed the flames. She finished her sketch, prayed deeply when she was returned, it would still be in the sketchbook, something to cherish, to remember.

More than likely to cry over for some time, but still. 

Her eyes watered, ached, mostly due to an attempt to read more of the contract. Why she bothered, she didn't know. Hoping for a hint, a clue as to what Ficklebutte thought he had over her, mostly. Another thing for her to pay; paying the insurance for all of her employees for a year. 

According to the calculations in her head, the huge sum of money she thought she was going to be paid was dwindling to a few thousand. And no way to make a living without completely changing careers, something that made her gut hurt. 

So, no. No sale. 

The arbor was suddenly warm, extremely warm, and she tossed her cloak back behind her. She picked up both bags of walnuts, noticing the one Anael ate from, was still full. Putting both in her lap, she picked up the iPad and began to flip through the books. 

Along with the silly, broody knight fluff her... office manager... guardian angel... _dear God, what am I supposed to call Val now???_

_Your friend...still Val..._

...put on it, she saw the ones she had were now returned. In the back of her mind, this bothered her, the realization her time here was growing short. 

Question was: how short? A day, a week, a month... 

_An hour?_

She flipped through the books, finally choosing, _Death by Honeybee_ and attempted to bury herself in a familiar world, in a familiar state, in a familiar surrounding area, a place she knew, she place remembered, a place she often missed...

“My Lady, I believe you are daydreaming.” She was surrounded by the smell of leather, of musky air and caressed by a familiar hand, fingers stroking about her neck. Genevieve started to jump up, throw herself into that beloved embrace, but Guy held her still, fingers now tenderly tracing upwards to her jawline, lifting it, forcing her to look upwards, into that dark gaze. “Perhaps, you were thinking of me?”

  
[](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/ZeeDippyVessel/media/Fic%20Artwork/tumblr_mligat89i31qfijmro1_500_zps399730af.jpg.html)

“Yes.” Strange, she knew she mouthed the word, but the barest of whispers fell from her lips. Before she could attempt to say it again, Guy leaned over her, his mouth finding hers and every dream, every memory, every wish she had uttered asleep or awake came true in that moment.

Finally, he lifted his mouth, that smirk she loved and hated on his face, before it suddenly turned into a scowl. “Who is that?” Guy was pointing at the notepad, where the quick sketch still lay open on the bench. 

“It's you,” Genevieve mumbled. “I didn't think it was that bad!' 

The look darkened. “My nose is bigger than that!” 

“I think you exaggerate!” The scowl wasn't going away. “Years ago, my grandmother caught me looking in the mirror and agonizing all of my imperfections! My too-wide mouth, my boring eyes, the furrow between my eyebrows. She told me when we look in the mirror, we see nothing but the flaws we imagine. We don't see ourselves through the eyes of others.” She flicked the end of it gently. “I think your nose suits your face well.” Without looking, she reached over and flipped it shut and changed the subject. “Did you sneak out to visit me? Does the Mother Superior know you're here?” 

Guy wanted to ask her, if the sketch was to remind her, would she grieve him, miss him...a part of him was going to die when this was over. Instead, he knelt in front of her, taking both hands in his. “Do you still wish to marry me?”

  
[](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/ZeeDippyVessel/media/Fic%20Artwork/tumblr_mmcdx17pwx1rm7reco1_400_zpsca506415.jpg.html)

“We've been through this, Guy. My answer has not changed.”

Quickly, he brought her knuckles to his lips, eyes sealed shut. “Say it. Will you marry me?” 

In a similar movement, Genevieve leaned forward, pressing her own lips to his forehead. “Yes. Oh, yes.” 

“Now?” Guy looked up to see the confusion in her eyes. “The third call went out this morning. Nottingham, Locksley, and Kirksley. John's money arrived at the garrison without incident for the first time in months. Vaisey ordered and paid all three churches to push it up. Locksley has already been preparing for days. It won't be much, due to the damp, but it will be-”

Genevieve placed a finger over his mouth. “I hope you don't mind me wearing this.” 

With this, a wide grin the likes Genevieve had never seen on the man's face, spread. “I brought the red dress you have not worn yet! Wot?” He was confused by the slump in Genevieve's shoulders. “Why are you so against wearing it? Why did you have it made if you did not like it?” 

“It's not that I don't like it! It's just...” her voice trailed off, trying to explain. “In my time, we wear white. It stands for joy, innocence, and purity,” Guy began to snicker, “oh, thanks a lot! But traditionally, we wear white, or off-white.” Her mind wandered. “Ecru... beige...” Genevieve realized he was staring at her like... well... a guy. “I guess I can wear red.” Guy was still holding her hands. “Where are we tying the knot?” 

“Wot?” 

“Where are we getting married? No offense to Father Thomas, but I'd rather not get married in Locksley.” 

Guy exhaled in gratefulness. “Here. Father Thomas is here, making the arrangements with the Abbess; Lady Aedyth and Lord Reginald are here, Sir Rodrick. He will insist on kissing you. Quite a bit and quite often.” He caught Genevieve's smile, “I might have to kill him if he's as bad as he claims. Isabella insisted on coming, I have no idea why.” 

“She is your sister,” Genevieve squeezed his hand. “I am so sorry for the bad blood between the two of you and I wish I knew how to heal it.” 

Guy shrugged. He was past desiring healing his relationship with his sister. He wished the woman would desire to heal her relationship with her husband! “Eleanor is here. And Joffrey.” 

“Well then,” Genevieve began to stack everything together. “I suppose I simply need to find a way to hide these things and get them back in my gym bag without anyone seeing.” 

Guy's large hand grabbed the iPad and iPhone and secreted them into the large sling that encompassed his left shoulder and arm. He then pulled her pencils from her hand, the slender reeds of sharpened charcoal following. “I have had to deal with one charge of witchcraft against you this day, m'lady. I trust he has seen the error of his ways and has left Nottingham by now.”

“Who?” Genevieve was horrified. “Vaisey?” 

“No. Winchester.” Guy stood, equally stunned at the sound of popping in his knees. “Bad enough he made the charge during Prime. It was an attempt to stall our nuptials and no, Vaisey did not put him up to it.” 

“Then, why?” Genevieve stood up alongside of him. 

“Apparently, he wishes to woo and marry the younger of the Harridston twits.” Guy ignored the hissing of Genevieve inhaling sharply between her teeth. “However, they have made such a fuss over me, he felt it would aid his cause if I was no longer involved with you and willing to take on the elder. Not to mention I believe he was put out because the suit of an earl was second to the hoped for suit of a mere knight!” He shook his head. “Even if you were not in my life, I would not have the chit!” Genevieve opened her mouth, but he kissed her, stealing her breath. “We will not discuss what will happen to you or to me when the Heavens snatch you from my grasp. Not now. Not today. Or this week.”

Picking up her things, Genevieve tucked her arm into Guy's unslung elbow, the two of them slowly leaving the garden. “How to you manage to keep the angry mob from coming to burn me?” 

Again, the smirk was back. “After I threatened to cut out his tongue, so he would speak funny as well, he changed his mind. Seems he did not say 'witch', he called you a bitch.” 

Genevieve began to snicker. “Oh, I've been called worse. Trust me!” 

Unable to pat her hand, Guy instead pulled his elbow with her hand tucked in it closer and tighter. “No one else will say that about you as long as I live and draw breath.” The two walked in silence until they reached the edge of the garden, the roof of Genevieve's temporary abode visible, smoke rising from the little chimney. Again, the butterfly brush of his mouth whispered across her forehead and the press of something cold and sharp in the palm of her hand. “Wear it, for me.” He kissed her knuckles, the imprint of her crucifix, obvious. “I will be waiting for you at the altar of the chapel. Do not keep me waiting.” 

And in the moment, he was gone.

Genevieve watched the leaves behind him rustle, listened to the wind call out and cover the sound of his footprints. 

_I'm getting married... I'm getting married... I'm getting.... OH SHIT! I need to get dressed!!!_

She pulled her cloak to her, hurrying to the small hut. She opened the door, to find it full of women, alright well, three women, but space was tight. Eleanor took her sketchbook and put it away in her saddlebag, Genevieve found herself undressed, sponge-bathed, clucked over, the red dress thrown over her head, sleeves pulled up, laced and a brush, welded by someone, being pulled through her hair.

[](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/ZeeDippyVessel/media/Fic%20Artwork/04FRIDAYThursdaydinner_zps56de9e86.jpg.html)  


“Lady Eadyth,” Eleanor was a blur, “hold this.” A mirror was shoved in the woman's hands and Genevieve found herself near the fire, her makeup bag on the table.

“You paint yourself?” Isabella was snobby, smirking, and rather interested.

“I enhance myself!” Genevieve retorted, much to Aedyth's unladylike giggling. Genevieve was quick, once finished, set everything down, Eleanor quickly sweeping the small bag up and putting it away. In the short time they had been there, Eleanor had packed everything in Genevieve's room, save what she was wearing and Maleficent. Somewhere in the short time in Genevieve's return, Sybil arrived with a bouquet of mismatched late fall roses.

“T' chapel's full!” she whispered excitedly. “There's no' been a weddin' 'ere. Ever!” Genevieve didn't see her arrive. Or leave. 

_A chapel full of nuns! Holy cow! Guy will shit a brick!_

When it was over, Genevieve wouldn't remember the ruby necklace or her crucifix put around her neck or Lady Aedyth moving her betrothal ring to the other hand or taking Guy's signet ring from the thong and placing it on her pointer finger. She wouldn't remember being escorted to the abbey. She wouldn't remember Aedyth or Eleanor kissing her cheek, she wouldn't remember Isabella holding her hand in her cold ones and sincerely thanking her for making her brother happy and moderately human. 

She wouldn't remember the singing.

She wouldn't remember the warmth from all the braziers lit.

She wouldn't remember the Abbess placing a floral crown in her hair. 

Or Lord Reginald taking her hand to lead her to the chapel and down the aisle. 

She would remember quietly wondering before the doors opened if the nuns would break out in a chorus of _'How do you solve a problem like Maria?'_

But she would always remember the chapel doors opening. 

And the look of wonderment and open appreciation and unabashed love on Guy's face as he waited for her at the altar.

_**~~~...~~~** _

_**The answer's yes** _

_**~~~...~~~** _

  
[](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/ZeeDippyVessel/media/Fic%20Artwork/gensdefiniteweddingband_zps7713bcbc.jpg.html)


	33. 32 - Entreat me not...

_**Manna from Heaven** _

_**Chapter 32** _

_**...Entreat me not...** _

Sir Rodrick kissed the bride so many times, the groom threatened to string him up. Friend or no friend. Even the Abbess was sending him dirty looks.

Most of the nuns, however, smiled behind their wimples and made sure to look away from the Abbess or the priest who officiated the ceremony. 

The most difficult thing for Genevieve was after the ceremony, when the few who were there were mounting up to meet them back at Locksley. Father Thomas and the Abbess escorted both Guy and Genevieve to a small room behind the chapel. There, on a podium, was a large, crudely bound book. The Abbess opened it and after flipping through the pages, turned it towards the newly married couple. Inviting them to step forward, Father Thomas came to stand beside them, a bottle of ink and quill in hand. 

“What?” 

“Why, you are to sign the ledger.” He offered her the quill. As she stared at it, dumbly, the man whispered. “The marriage isn't complete or legal until you have signed it.” 

Smiling painfully, Genevieve took the quill and dipped it in the bottle. She looked at the ledger, a listing of deaths and admittance of nuns... “What am I supposed to write?” she whispered to her husband. 

“Your full name, followed by 'spinster'.” 

“Well, I'm not a spinster anymore and I'm Lady Gisborne.” 

Guy's jaw was set firmly. “No. Write your name. Genevieve Faith, Spinster.” 

“But-”

“Just do it.” 

Genevieve rolled the quill tightly in her fingers and in a painfully elementary hand, signed what Guy told her to sign. Father Thomas raised one eyebrow, staring over Genevieve's head at the Abbess. Obviously, the lady's boast of being educated either did not included letters or was highly over-rated.

Guy followed, much easier than she. 

She was equally offset, when after making much show with Guy to bestow a large gift of money to the convent and then saying good-bye, she realized everyone had left and there was only one horse. 

Féond.

And her personal bag.

“Guy? Where is Zeus?” 

“Back in Locksley.” 

“Why?” Guy stared at her. “I mean, is there any reason why I have to walk back?”

“You are not walking back. You are riding with me.” For a moment, he looked worried, something flickering across his eyes. “Does that not please you?”   
_  
You're remembering something. Something that has to do with her, something that if I knew what it was, would probably piss me off..._

A slow smile spread across her face. “Me? In your lap? That would please me very much.” Genevieve stepped around, holding Féond's bridle, while Guy mounted. Going to his right side, she mounted up in front, realizing between the saddle-horn and... well... Guy... this might not be wise. Before she could comment, Guy placed her bag in her lap and clicked behind his teeth, sending the horse from the bailey of the abbey, silent well-wishers waving them off. Genevieve looked back, seeing Sybil in the background, a look of unabashed lust on her face. 

_No. That one won't go into the cloister. And she best keep away from my husband!_

“Are you cold?” Holding his reins in his slung arm, he moved to pull her cloak to in the front.

“No. Why?” 

He cupped her left breast, teasing the nipple through the fabric. “I simply wished to do this.” Before she could protest, Guy leaned down, taking full possession of her mouth. Making sure he had completely stolen her breath, he raised up. “Would you like to hear something amazingly strange?” 

“You did that on purpose and I am afraid to ask.” She pushed his hand down. 

“You are a willful wench.”

“You love me that way.” 

He smirked at the admission. “My arm does not pain me so much today.” 

Genevieve stared up at him, disbelief on her face. “How many pain killers are you taking?” 

Guy kept watch on the road, his eyes wandering up into the trees. “None. When I arrived at the Abbey, I realized my arm gave me little pain, whatsoever, which I find to be strange. Considering I had ridden hard to the convent, at the very least, the shoulder should be screaming and calling me ugly names. It was not. I exercised it when I went into the garden to find you, and was left a short time alone in the refectory office. I unslung it, moved it around. That hurt, but not as much as I thought it would.” He leaned down, eyes still ahead, but his mouth against her ear. “What strange witchcraft is this, m'lady?” 

Genevieve was horrified. After all this, was he finally going to make good on his threat how many weeks ago? “Guy, I don't know. I have no idea-”

“We cannot tell a soul, you know this is true? We will both be dunked. I will have to pretend it still hurts abysmally for several more weeks.” Guy now sat up, his right hand back on her breast. “Is there a way to unlace the front of this dress? I would like to fondle you until we reach Locksley.” Genevieve rolled her eyes. Honestly, did the man think of nothing else? Before she could retort, an odd chirping sound came from somewhere, somewhere... nearby...

“What is that wretched sound?” Guy stopped, looking around. “It sounds like a pathetic bird!” 

The sound was oddly familiar to Genevieve. And it was coming from between them. “Oh, disgust!” she muttered loudly. “It's my iPhone!” She reached into Guy's sling, searching for it. “It's been turned off since I arrived! What on earth?” As she grasped it, the messaging system lit up, turning on and glowing beneath the sling. “You must have somehow turned it on, pressing or leaning on it.” She shook it at him. “Good thing this didn't happen during our ceremony! That would have been hell to explain!” 

_Hello Genevieve, you have one new message and two saved message …_

Guy made to grab the phone from her, but she leaned backwards, pulling it free from his sling and holding it away. “You must be careful! This is witchcraft and, as much as you annoy me, I would not have you burnt at the stake or drowned in the pond!” he hissed.

She continued to clutch it above her head, away from the man. “So glad you care for me that much.”

“You keep my bed warm,” he smirked, “I would prefer not to break in a new bed partner any time soon.” The look he got from her chilled him to the bone and he reached out to her, touched her thigh, squeezing it gently. “I only jest.”

“You better be!” 

“'Tis true!” Amazingly, he sounded wounded. Again, he squeezed. “I married you. I would not have if I did not care somewhat.”

“Somewhat,” Genevieve muttered. She shook her head and shook the iPhone at Guy. “I annoy you? Still?” 

Guy shrugged. “Not so much. I now find your annoying habits endearing.” Using his chin to point, he jutted at the iPhone still clutched in her hand. “What is that thing?” 

Satisfied he would not try to take it from her, she pulled it down from the air. “This is how we communicate long distances in my time. Rather than send a... a...”

“Missive.”

“...thank you, missive... this is how we send missives. We also speak to one another with it.” 

The man was moving with the horse, underneath her and Genevieve found the movement erotic. Whatever was planned at Locksley, she hoped they wouldn't be expected to stay long. “How long does it take to send a missive with that... thing?” 

“Depending on coverage, tower reception,” she missed that the man whose lap she sat in was completely lost in her explanation so far. “nano-seconds.” 

One eyebrow was up. “Nano-seconds?” 

“Immediately. And if I want to talk to someone and they are in the next room, the next building, town, state, shire, I simply put in their phone number,” again, the eyebrow was up, “the number that belongs solely to them, and I speak to them through their phone.” 

“In nano-seconds.” 

“Immediately. Like I'm talking to you now.” 

With no warning, Guy snatched it from her hand, looking at it closely. “This is very similar to your other odd device, only it is smaller.” With his left arm still in the sling, he began to poke at the icons, causing it to speak again.

[](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/ZeeDippyVessel/media/Fic%20Artwork/tumblr_mzdq5kgS8I1rdy3s5o1_500_zpsdf934b9d.jpg.html)

_Hello Genevieve, you have one new message…_

His wife... his wife!... reached over and tapped the upper corner. “I wish you wouldn't.” 

Not showing any emotion, save the tick in his jaw, Guy asked quietly, “You have something to hide?” His stare matched her mutinous one. “You are my wife and there will be no secrets from me.” Seeing she was not backing down, he continued. “How can I protect you if you hide things from me?” 

_Marian hid things from me. I could not protect her. But God, I tried._

“There is nothing of importance on there-”

“Then why hide it?” 

Unbeknownst to the riders, the horse had come to a stop, standing idly in the middle of the path.

Genevieve's jaw was flapping up and down. “Well, it's... past... erm... future?” 

“My lady,” he enunciated clearly, “I have trusted and confessed to you my darkest, most wretched sin. I suspect that you ride my nightmares and that you know far more about me than I have spoken.” He didn't wait for her response. “I would hope and pray you would trust me with what it is you hide so fervently.” A name from her cries in the night came back to him. “Would this concern... Lamar?” 

“Yes.” 

“Who was he to you?” 

Genevieve realized that he was going to find out and if she even attempted to hide it from him, or make it less than it was, it would damage and blacken whatever time they had left. 

And he had been painfully honest with her.

“I dated… was friends with a man... Lamar... for a long time. Two years.”

“That is a long time to court.”

“Yes, it is. I thought we had a future together.” She stopped for a moment. “I thought he wanted to marry me. I love…loved him. Just like you.” It was quiet and Guy allowed her to ruminate, without interrupting. “When he wanted to travel… anything… I would drop everything, change my plans. When I couldn’t, because he didn’t give me enough notice, he would get angry.”

“Why,” Guy’s voice was very soft, “would you have ‘other plans’? What would be so important you could not spend time with a man you supposedly loved?”

Genevieve smiled mirthlessly. For all of his bravado and thinking he knew everything, he was clueless to the independence of modern, twenty-first century women. “Men. You think the world revolves around you.” She looked at him from the side of her eyes. Guy was smirking; it was obvious that, yes, he thought the world revolved around men. _Or at least around him!_

“I have people counting on me, employees, clients… merchants… to meet with. How do you feel when the sheriff pulls you from your bed in the middle of the night, demanding your attendance? What if you have something important planned to do already?” 

Guy’s look was not nice. “He is the Sheriff. I am his Master at Arms, his Lieutenant, and his second in command. If he desires my presence, it is my duty to go to him, regardless of how… ill-timed… his request is.”

“Well,” she shook her finger, “I don’t have a sheriff to answer to. I am my own master. I answer to no one except when someone purchases my time and my services.” Guy was now looking at her most dispassionately. “Besides, it wasn’t someone above me demanding my time. It was my friend, my boyfriend, someone I wasn’t engaged to, betrothed to, who wasn't my husband.”

“Would it have made any difference?” 

Genevieve hung her head. “I don’t know, Guy. I’m supposed to respect the fact he was important and he had responsibilities.” She looked up at him. “Shouldn’t he be respectful of my responsibilities as well?” She turned her attention back to her iPhone. “I have people counting on me making sure they had work to do. I had people depending on me to complete a job they had hired me and my firm to complete. And I’m supposed to drop it all and forget about them because _Lamar_ gave me an hour’s notice to drop everything and travel leagues away for no other reason than he needed an arm ornament to show off.”

Guy’s head was back as he contemplated the branches above him. “You have an unusual vocabulary.”

By now, Genevieve turned her back to Guy. “Why was I brought to Nottingham to attend the festival?”

The knight shrugged. “I thought you would like to see Nottingham, get out a bit-”

“Guy! The truth!” 

“The Sheriff wanted-”

“To use me. He wasn’t interested in me, who I am, what I’m working on, why I’m here, how I got here. He could care less I’m educated or intelligent-“

“You are a pixie from hell.”

Genevieve laughed at that. “Oh, yes, I am a pixie from hell! He heard you had a woman and he wanted to use me. He wanted to see me paraded around on your arm, so everyone could see that Guy of Gisborne had gotten over his heart break-” he inhaled sharply at that and Genevieve immediately felt horrid at her choice of words, but kept on, “- to prove you were as heartless as Robin Hood claimed and that is what we call an arm-ornament. Someone who looks good on your arm, makes you look good, but doesn’t necessarily have much to do or say. Just look pretty.”

“The less said, the better.”

Genevieve leaned her head back, exposing her throat to him. “You are an intelligent man, Sir Guy of Gisborne. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise and if they do, don’t believe it.” Gesturing for him to give her her iPhone, she began to bleep quickly through the messages, searching for the one that broke her heart over and over. “He also wanted to see how close we are so he could use me to get at you. Actually, I think it behooved him for you to have no attachments. He had you all to himself.” She stopped for a moment, staring into the trees. “Actually, it's kinda sick, to be honest, the amount of interest he has in your personal life.”

If it was possible, Guy pulled her in closer and sank his nose in her hair. She smelled of earth and sweat and for some reason, he want to take her into the trees and have her right there. What was it about this woman who could lay him so bare and vulnerable and yet, she took great pains not to openly step on that which pained him, while still insisting on discussing it?

Genevieve began talking again. _Jesu, when did the woman not talk?_

“The last thing I remember, I was trying to work my way through the crowd,” she realized he wouldn’t understand a ‘car’ or ‘traffic,’ “and was listening to my messages. I had a romantic dinner planned, a romantic weekend-”

“And toys.”

“Yesssss. And toys. And instead, I hear this.” She hit the play message. That now despised voice broke through the birdsong.  
 _  
“It’s Lamar. Look, I’m going to have to cancel our date tonight… this weekend. I... I had something…something has come up… yes, Mother, I’m speaking to her now. No, I do not… look, Genevieve, I’m sorry, but we’re not working out. I need someone more … well… and you’re busy and we’re moving in different … yes Mother, can you just please… right now just isn’t our time. It’s not you, it’s me. We move in different circles. You’ve got a lot going on and we just have different things going on and it’s unfair to both of us. Maybe … I’m sorry, this is just hard… I’m sorry. I… have tickets for us for the Red Cross Ball in a few weeks, but I don’t think it would be in… your best interests to go with me, I’ll find someone… else…I’m sorry. Good luck with your new business venture. I know you’ll do well. Bye.”_

It was quiet for a few moments before Guy spoke. “He decided you are no longer… friends.”

“That’s correct.” 

“And this is how he tells you?” Guy's voice rose, anger clear and evident in his tone. “He does not speak to you in person, but sends a... that?” 

Genevieve was shaking her head. “Yeah. ” She sighed, watching the information sink in. “And to make it worse, he left this message when he knew I would be away from my phone, so he wouldn't have to talk to me directly.” 

“The man is a coward! You deserve much better!”

Now she was grinning. “Ya think?” 

Guy was obviously furious for her. “He is the lowest form of peasant. Completely untrustworthy! Because? Different… circles?”

Genevieve was nodding her head, moving the screen back to the messages. “His family is sort of… I don’t know, Southern nobility and I’m just a plebeian from the backwoods.” 

“A wot?”

“Plebeian. Common man.” She could sense the look of confusion on his face. “A peasant.”

Guy’s hands roamed down Genevieve’s legs, sliding beneath her knees and in lifting her, he pulled her closer. His voice was veiled fury, hissing in her ear. “You are no peasant. You are educated.”

“Well, not according to The Gator.” Before he could ask, she continued. “That was my mean and nasty secret nickname for Lamar’s mother. The Gator.”

Guy’s head was spinning. So many new words. “I would have a very hard time living in your world. What is a Gator?” 

“Quite the contrary, my love,” she smacked his thigh, “you would do very well in my world. You would make a ruthless attorney or stock broker.” She continued in a rush. “A gator is short for ‘alligator.’ They are really big lizards with strong jaws and a lot of sharp teeth.”

Guy thought for a moment. “Like crocodiles?” Guy was familiar with those creatures, having seen them in the Holy Land.

“Yes.”

“Ah.” He smiled evilly. “I have a new name for my sister. Gator.” This revelation caused Genevieve to giggle. Ignoring her, Guy tapped the iPhone. “This Lamar person is a coward and a.. a...” He sat up straight. “What would you call such a wretched human in your time?” 

“Oh, I have a variety of things I call such men. None of them,” she wagged her finger, “are suitable for polite company.” 

Guy snorted. “I am not polite. I am your husband and I am telling you to tell me such impolite but suitable names for a coward!” 

Genevieve began to tick off her fingers. “Douche bag, dick-weed, douche canoe.” 

The sunlight was so dim where they sat on the horse, Guy's eyes had turned almost as black as the jerkin he was wearing. “Douche Bag.” He nodded hard once. “Douche Bag! This Lamar person is a douche bag!” Genevieve was now doubled over, laughing harder than she had laughed in years. “I fail to see what is so funny.”

Genevieve turned around, cupped his face and kissed him. “God, I love you and if He sends me back, He better send you with me because I don’t think I could stand life without you in it.” It was out in a rush, before she realized it. “I meant that. Really I do.”

Guy was staring at her, not blinking. His eyes had turned a stormy gray as he looked at her intently. “You would want me there with you?” 

“Yes.” 

She couldn't tell if he was intrigued or horrified. Before she could elaborate, he pointed to her iPhone “There was a woman talking as well.”

“The Gator.”

He waved his hand. “Play it again. I wish to hear what she has to say.”

Truth was, Genevieve had done everything to avoid what the woman was saying. She had focused on the heartbreak Lamar caused. “I would rather not.” 

“Genevieve, do you not trust me?” 

She hit the play saved messages, focusing on the voice in the background.

_…white trailer trash… don’t know what you saw in her to begin with…nobody from nowhere…has no class… not good enough for you… you can do better…illegitimate whore…_

The message ended and Genevieve took a shaky breath. “Oh my God. I never knew she hated me so much.”

“What is ‘white trailer trash’?” All of a sudden, Guy's very presence was over-powering, heated.

Genevieve hung her head in shame. “The lowest peasant. According to her, I’m a filthy peasant, born and raised in a shack, a hovel.” She looked at her iPhone, livid at what she heard. “I’m not good enough for her precious son, not worthy of him… wait… how did she find out I was illegitimate?” Even though her back was to the man, her hands went to her mouth.

Guy gently turned her. “You are illegitimate?” 

Genevieve was white as a sheet. She kept her family secret, her background private. Not even Val knew! She had simply been raised by her grandmother. “My mother ran off with a musician… and when she had me, she left me with my grandmother. I’ve never seen her or whoever my father was again.” She dropped her head. This world placed so much on legitimacy and being born on the right side of the sheets. She looked up at him, blinking tears. “I don't even know who my father is. She didn't say on the birth certificate. It’s not my fault. It’s not like I had a say…”

Guy’s head tilted. Had she looked, Genevieve would have seen the wheels turning in his mind. “You could not help your parentage, your parents' indiscretions.” 

Turning her rage back to the object in her hand, she gripped it tightly. “You’re right, Guy. He’s a coward, a douche bag! He is so not worth the salt in my tears! He wasted my time, my affection, I loved him and… and… I hate him! I absolutely HATE him and loathe him and I wish he were dead!” And with that, she flung the iPhone across the path. It hit a tree, ricocheting backwards onto the trail, bouncing several times before coming to rest a few feet in front of the pair. The screen lit up. 

_“It’s Lamar. Look, I’m going to have to cancel our date tonight… this weekend. It’s Lamar. Look, I’m going to have to cancel our date tonight… this weekend. It’s Lamar. Look, I’m going to have to cancel our date tonight… this weekend. It’s Lamar. Look, I’m going to have to cancel our date tonight… this weekend…”_

“OH SHIT!” Genevieve jumped from the horse and picking up her skirts, ran to the iPhone and rammed her slippered foot down on the little black box, only causing it to bounce more. “DAMMIT! Shut! Up!” She didn’t hear the sword being removed from the scabbard. 

_…going to have to cancel our date tonight… this weekend. It’s Lamar. Look, I’m…_

One minute she was trying to stomp on the phone, bruising her foot in the process, the next, a leather-clad hand held a large broadsword, dangling point down, its hilt balanced precariously from between long fingers. “Make it stop. It is aggravating.”

_… our date tonight… this…_

Genevieve grabbed the sword, shocked at its heaviness. It took everything she had to raise it over her head.

Guy saw what she intended to do and it terrified him. He grabbed her hands. “NO! Not like that!” He forced her to lower the blade. “You will blunt it!” He caught her look of ire and rolled his eyes. “As well as cut your foot off or mine in the process! Here. Let me help.” With the iPhone still jabbering away on the ground, Guy slowly pulled his hand from the sling and helped her place the sword’s point in the center of the iPhone's screen. “Push.”

Genevieve tried, honestly she did and even Guy could tell she was pushing with all her might but it just wasn’t…

_…to cancel our date tonight… this weekend. It’s Lamar. Look…_

…enough. Genevieve was crying again. “Shut up, you douche canoe, just shut the hell up…”

From nowhere, those same hands took hers. Removing the sword from her grip, he grasped the pommel tightly. “Put your hands on mine. I do not wish to harm you.”

The admission stunned her and it shouldn’t have. How many times had the man told her he didn’t wish to hurt her, had no desire to harm her, took no joy in causing her pain…

“Genevieve. Put your hands on mine.” 

She did as he ordered, putting her hands over his, the disembodied voice going on and on like a bad case of diarrhea. “Now push.” She felt him tighten down, the sinews and muscles in his hands and fingers, tensing, making her glad he had had foresight to exchange places as he would have broken her fingers. With a heave, they forced the blade through the iPhone, finally stopping that now hated voice and causing the device to die and the incessant chirping to stop.

Guy stepped back and sheathed his sword. “Do you feel better?” 

Genevieve swallowed hard. “Yes.” With that, her head shot up, staring at him with a steely gaze. “He is dead to me.” 

There were lines around Guy's mouth. His shoulder was paining him more than he wanted to let on. “Get on my horse.”

“I’m too mad to ride!” She spun on her heel, hands now in the air as she yelled at the birds. Apparently, Lamar was not only a coward and tied to his mother’s apron strings, he was also a lousy lover, lukewarm at best in bed and didn’t care enough about her to ensure her enjoyment! Thank God for sensitive, wonderful, thoughtful twelfth century knights. She wore heels bigger than his dick and why he wasn’t worth the salt in her tears…

And apparently she felt the world needed to know.

Guy dropped his head, looking at the wreck of the instrument of witchcraft. With a snarl, he lifted his foot and drove his boot heel through the remnants of the cell phone, shattering what was left of the casing, before kicking and scattering it into the woods. He looked to the heavens, muttering, “If you see fit to fulfill her request and send me forward with her, I will kill the bastard for saddling me with this she-devil.” With a well-rehearsed sigh, he turned, and mounted his horse. For a while, he followed Genevieve, while she ranted and raved about stupid, pansy-ass men, over-bearing alligator women, and not messing with southern pixies from hell. Quickly, the rant got old and Guy had more important things to do. Such as show up long enough to satisfy the people of Locksley and possibly the Sheriff and the few guests from the wedding and then bed his wife!

“Genevieve. That is enough. Get up behind me.” He pulled up next to her and stuck out his hand.

“I’m not done!”

“Yes, you are.” Again, the hand reached out. “You are annoying me and I suspect you are attracting attention neither you nor I desire. Either pull up, or I am leaving and I will leave the bag as well.” To reinforce his threat, he grabbed her bag and held it over and away from the side of his horse. That was enough of a warning for Genevieve. She motioned and after he placed her bag behind him, she grabbed his hand and pulled up, settling comfortably in his lap. Reaching around him, she grabbed the handles of her gym bag, so he wouldn’t have to contend with the bag and his reins. After helping him put his arm back in the sling, she pressed up completely against him, relaxed and rested her head against his chest.

It wasn’t lost on Guy that there wasn’t a breath of air between them, that she was as close to him as if she was naked in bed with him and she chose to be this close. She had no true fear of him and she was completely secure in being with him. Whenever Marian rode with him, she kept herself apart as far as possible, touching only as she needed to. For the longest time, he convinced himself that she did such because it was simply how a lady acted; only now he realized she held herself aloof because she was uncomfortable with him, tolerated him. So this small act warmed him in more ways than one. Taking his reins in one hand, he covered hers with the other. “We will have to get your bag quickly into the manor.”

[](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/ZeeDippyVessel/media/Fic%20Artwork/50maximillianleibenwen_zpsd2402d66.jpg.html)

Maximillian Leibenwen

“We'll find Eleanor immediately. She is very... sneaky.” It was quiet for a moment as the two settled into the saddle and into a rhythm.

“My lady, what is a 'douche bag'?” The pair neared the curve of the road as Guy leaned down and listened to Genevieve's explanation. “WOT? That is disgusting!” 

Finally, they disappeared around the curve, Genevieve's laughter fading into the song of the rustling leaves, before ringing out, one last time. “GUY! Get your hands off my...”

_**~~~...~~~** _

As the pair melted into the surrounding woods, nothing moved for some minutes, before two men separated themselves from the trees. Tuck and Hood made their way to close to the road, looking up and down to ensure they were the only ones in that part of the forest.

“She is a piece of work!” 

Tuck started to say nothing, but ended up filling in the silence. “She is who she is.” 

“You know something you have not told me.” 

“I suspect.” 

Hood wandered down to the road. “Well, he married her.”

Tuck was staring down the lane himself. “I believe she sees something in him you are too angry to see. Something only she can touch.”

_And he allows her to touch that long-buried human part of him._

There was a crashing sound through the leaves, Allan-a-Dale coming down the small hill. “Hey wot! Locksley is 'avin' a feast! Ev'ry ones invited an' bein' fed.” He threw his thumb over his shoulder. “Nott'n'am is a ghost town. Nuttin' but tha' Sir Rodrick's knights guardin' t'place.” He came to a halt by Tuck and put his hands on his hips. “Wot? Did Sir Guy make Lady Genevieve 'is missus?” 

Tuck was nodding. “Aye, he did.” There was a soft crack as Tuck's foot came down on something plastic. “They just rode by. It's obvious she is very fond of Sir Guy.”

“Well, we know he’s fond of her. We get to see how fond he is every night when he leaves the bedroom window open!” Robin readjusted his leggings. “Damned uncomfortable!” 

“Well, maybe sum shouldn’ look in tha' window at night!” Allan retorted. “Besides, even yer Marian said tha' Giz wuz tender an' caring.”

“Aye, and he was certainly tender when he killed her!” 

Allan was not about to back down. “Once Marian tole me she wished 'e wuld fine sum one good who'd love 'im back as much he wuz capable o' acceptin'. Maybe, tha’s 'appened.”

Robin spit off to the side. “Maybe it has, but it still happened too late. He still killed her.” Searching down the hill, he watched to see if anyone else showed up. “I am still going to kill him, unless something incredible happens.”

Allan was scratching his head. “Much said 'e 'eard t'Sheriff ain't claimin' she fell from t'sky no more. T'Sheriff iz sayin' she fell outta a tree 'idin' frum us! 'e also 'eard one o' th' nobles called 'er out as a witch durin' Mass this mornin'. Giz shut 'im up real fast.” He shrugged in apology to Tuck. “Rumor iz when they found 'er, 'er dress barely covered 'er… backside… an' 'er shoes were ridiculously… ridiculous.” With this, he dipped his head, blushing. “Said she was wearin' silky stockings with lace tops.” He pressed his fingers together. “Little pincher hooks to hold 'em up.”

“Stockings? Silk stockings?” Robin's jaw was dropped in wonderment. “Those would cost a fortune!”

“Small wonder he keeps her.”

“Small wonder that black-hearted git is blaming us for robbing her!” Robin was snarling. “Fell from the sky, that would be a good reason he is covering that up. He probably thinks she is angel from heaven.” Robin smirked at his own hypothesis. “God should have sent the Angel of Death!” He completely missed Tuck's snort.

“An' anuther thin',” Allan continued. “Tha' pretty cross o' 'ers? Giz has been wearin' it since she went tew t'convent.” 

“Really?” Robin rubbed in jaw in thought. “She was very attached to it, for her to just hand it over.” He continued to mull over the information. “Lovers gifts while they were parted. I wonder what she had of his?” He shook his head, moving on. ”Allan, get the others and head to Nottingham. If Sir Rodrick's guards are the only one's there, they won't know the secret ins and outs and we can take a crack at the sheriff's strong room. Tuck and I will follow shortly and meet you there.” He waited, arms crossed until Allan disappeared over the hill, waiting until the leaves spoke no more. “I suppose we will have to put up with Lady Gisborne now.” He began to search the ground. “Perhaps, she will keep him occupied. It sure didn't take long for him to get over Marian!” 

Tuck was not in the mood to put up with Robin's ill-placed self-righteousness. “What do you search for?” 

Robin had now moved to the brush, his feet kicking the leaves aside. “That strange box of hers that spoke. I swear the woman is a witch!” 

Tuck leaned down, and pulled the part of the casing from under his foot. “She is not.” He pointed to Robin's left. “You'll find the rest of it right there.”

Robin was picking up the rest of the pieces. “Wot is she?” He picked up the remnants of Genevieve’s iPhone “This black thing they were destroying.” He held it out to Tuck. “I don’t know what it is. It looks evil.” He started to hand it to the friar, but changed his mind, deciding to take a closer look himself.

Tuck watched the outlaw look for a few minutes, turning the pieces this way and that. “She claims she is not from here. I think she tells the truth.”

“Where do you think she’s from?” Robin continued to inspect, turn the pieces of the cellphone. “Not here. In fact, this,” he opened his hand with the pieces in it, “is not of this… time.” Dawning lit on his features. “Sweet Mary, Mother of God. She is not of this time.” He looked up at Tuck, fury, incredibility on his face. “Wot do you know? Wot have you been hiding?” 

Tuck nodded his head, signaling the outlaw to follow him. “Remember a few weeks ago, when you accidentally shot her? She had to be stitched up and was in a lot of pain. She was given several pain killers, including opium. Sir Guy was not in the room with us for a time.” 

Robin began to smile. “She was singing like a bird! Wait!” He stopped, one finger in the air. “You were terrified when you came back from Locksley! I've never seen a man as scared as you were when you returned.”

They were drawing closer to their current camp. “This is true. But I was more terrified _for_ her than _of_ her.” They arrived at their winter site, Tuck lifting the hidden door. 

Robin ducked under and waited for Tuck to retrieve his bags from his sleeping pallet. Motioning again, Tuck led Robin out, the two sitting on a large rock. “I recall you made a comment about having more-”

_Believe me. If you harm, even unintentionally, Gisborne's Lady - and yes, she is Gisborne's Lady now, you... we all ... will have much more to fear than Sir Guy!_

“-to fear than Gisborne.” Robin's brow knitted in ire. “Wot do you know about her? Who is she? Wot is she?” 

“You are correct. She is not from this time.” Tuck was pulling journals from his bag, opening, flipping through them.”She is from the future.” _Aha! This one!_

“The... future...”

“Yes Robin. The future. I would say a thousand, two thousand years from now. Grab a couple of wine-skins. You're going to need a drink when this is over and I'll be parched!” 

Robin wasn't buying it, but he grabbed two wine-skins anyway. “Wot makes you think that?” 

“That-” he pointed at the destroyed iPhone in the outlaw's hand, “- for one thing. As you said, she sang like a bird. She couldn't lie, she didn't have the strength or the ability to lie. She says she is from a place called 'Alanna Jorja,' which according to her is across the ocean, far, far away over the rainbow. Not a sea, not a body of water between here and the Holy Land or here and Ireland. An ocean.” 

“Tuck,” Robin was exasperated, “everyone knows that if you sail to the west, you'll fall off the edge of the earth.” 

“Not so,” Tuck spat. “The Norsemen I sailed with up the coast spoke of islands and a land to the west, islands of green, islands of ice and a land with people, hunters and planters. In addition, one of the last Welsh princes, Madoc, left Wales and sailed west some twenty-five years ago to escape his brother, Dafydd. He came back after establishing a colony over the ocean, rounded up the rest of his kin and clan and took them back with him.” 

“The Welsh tell fanciful tales, my friend. Why should you believe her?” 

“Because, several things. She has implements and instruments not known to our world. Her speech is strange, she _is_ educated, something most women here are not. Even the wealthy ones. She is not ruled by superstition and has unusual ideas for a woman.” 

“All women have unusual ideas, Tuck. Even Marian.” 

“Not like this, my friend. According to her, the world is round, which makes sense of the movement of the heavenlies. She stated that Sir Guy told her that someone threw her at him, which explains the original story that she fell from the sky. Something traumatic happened to her in her time and she was sent here until the paperwork was done.” He took a swig from the wineskin. “What was troublesome was she spoke of having an office manager who told her she was sent here to get the paperwork done, that office manager's name is Val Ouelle and Val is in league with The Angel of Death.” 

“So in other words, she's a witch.” 

“Not if she is entertaining angels.” 

Robin was quiet, thinking hard. “Who is Val Ouelle and why would she be in league with the Angel of Death?” 

Tuck smiled. “Now you're asking the right questions. The name Val Ouelle was familiar to me, so I looked through my journals.” He picked up the one in his lap. “And I found this.” He leaned over, showing the journal to Robin, who began to read out loud.

“Valoel gives a calm and tranquil feeling of inner peace. Aids in resolving conflict within the heart.” He looked up. “Tuck, that makes no sense.” 

“It makes perfect sense, Robin. If her ramblings are correct, she works day-to-day with an angel; an angel who works for her and one she apparently considers friend.” He shook the journal at him. “A powerful angel, Robin. Think about it! The very thought terrifies me! An angel who walks the earth! From what Lady Genevieve told me, I garner she was dealing with a problem within whatever office she has, and her office manager, her steward, who is the Angel of Resolving Conflict in the Heart and of Inner Peace aided in sending her here to have a quiet spot to deal with that problem! And she mentioned a 'rat bastard' who she was very angry with. She called him Lamar.” 

“Another angel?” 

“No!” Tuck pointed to the remnants of the iPhone sitting at Robin's feet. “I was close enough to hear-” 

“I heard, but I couldn't tell what was being said. Just a voice.” 

“I could. Apparently, Genevieve was involved romantically with Lamar, whose voice was on that instrument. He set her aside, broke off their friendship, said they weren't working. Somehow, her relationship with him was interfering with whatever decision she was sent here to make.” 

_'You’re right, Guy. He’s a coward, a douche bag! He is so not worth the salt in my tears! He wasted my time, my affection, I loved him and… and… I hate him! I absolutely HATE him and loathe him and I wish he were dead!'_

Candles of inspiration lit up in Robin's eyes. “Whoever this Lamar is, he hurt her!”

“Broke her heart.” 

“It infuriated Gisborne. Whatever that man did or said, it infuriated Gisborne!” 

Tuck was flipping through the pages, taking great care with the delicate vellum. “She loves Gisborne and she wants to stay. But she told me that Val – that's what she calls Valoel – told her that The Angel of Death probably will not allow her to stay.” He found what he was looking for, his finger marking the spot. “Did you know that there is another priest in Locksley?” 

Robin was drinking from his skin and he choked. “No, there isn't,” he spat. “Only Father Thomas.”

“No. She says there is another. One she spoke with one day. One whose eyes changes colors.” He held out the new page.

“Douma. The Thousand-Eyed Angel. The Angel of Dea...Tuck! The Church frowns on this sort of information!” 

“Which is why I stay on the move and I would not mention any of this to anyone else!” He began to flip back to the first page he had marked. “The Church is aware the majority of her flock is illiterate and cannot understand the majority of what is in the Holy Writ, much less the powers know so very little of their own dogma, philosophy, and legend! I would not mention this at all, except for one thing I cannot piece together.” With this, he held up the illustration. “Look closely. Do you see what I see?” 

Robin took a final swig and with his mouth full of wine, he corked the skin and set it down before taking the hide-bound journal from the friar. He stared for a long time, shaking his head negatively, before his eyes opened wide. He swallowed hard, wiped the trailing remnants with the back of his hand. His finger went to the page, stabbing at something drawn on it. “That... I recognize that.” 

“What do you recognize?” 

Robin's eyes never left the page. “That is Lady Genevieve's crucifix!” 

“You didn't touch it, did you?” 

“No. I held it by the chain.” He cocked his head to the side. “It spun. I have never seen anything to spin like that.” 

“I did," Tuck whispered. “It stung, was heated, the edges were sharp. Allan told me the night after he took it from her, he couldn't turn it loose fast enough. Father Thomas felt it was something so holy, he was terrified of it. He held it by the chain as well.” 

“But if it stings and burns those who do not own it, why was Gisborne wearing it?” 

“That's one thing I can't figure out. I also cannot figure out how she got that. The Angel didn't give it to her. She says her grandmother did.” 

Robin was taping the page. “Wait. Wait.” He closed his eyes in deep thought. “I have seen this before. He lifted his finger, wagging. “Years ago. I've seen it. Can't remember... wait...” he snapped his fingers. “Now I remember! Sir Roger Gisborne, Guy and Isabella's father was wearing it when he returned the last time from the Crusades. I only saw it once or twice. I thought it was something very... feminine for a knight to wear!” He began to shake his head. “So it should be Gisborne's or it would be something he would give his lady. But I've never seen him with it and Lady Genevieve wouldn't have arrived with it.” He looked at Tuck, the journal sliding from his hands into his lap. “Is she a descendent of his?” His eyes wandered, searching the trees. “He has a son, Seth, but we've hidden him from Gisborne. He's illegitimate, a child he had by a kitchen maid in Nottingham Castle, and Guy left him in the forest to die. We hid him and his mother.” 

“Somehow, this piece has made its way through the centuries to Gisborne's wife. I do not believe Lady Genevieve is related in any way to Sir Guy.” With that, he took the journal from Robin and placed it back in the satchel. “Now you know what I know. She is from the future. She is willing to give up her life there to live here with Sir Guy. She has married him and she brings nothing to the marriage, save her unconditional love for him.” Tuck found it necessary not to tell Robin she and Guy planned to leave England for France. “I know you think she does not care about his past; I think she very much cares about it. Everyone will have a reckoning, Robin. I truly believe she is his reckoning. How he deals with her and the challenges she brings him will decide his fate upon his death. She is protected not by one, but by two very powerful Angels, one of which is the Angel of Death. She does not want to return to her time and she wears an angel's talisman, one that burns everyone but herself and her husband.” With everything packed away, Tuck pulled himself inward, his voice softening to a bare whisper. “Somewhere, the Angel Valoel made a promise to Sir Roger of Gisborne and gave him her crucifix to ensure that promise. I can think of no other reason why one such as he would have something of the much power. It should have been passed to Sir Guy, but instead, it has made its way to Lady Genevieve, which would explain why this angel watches over her so closely.”

“Perhaps it also explains why she is here. To return it to Gisborne.” 

Tuck was shaking his head. “I'm not sure.” His voice drifted off, “but yes, that crucifix belongs to Sir Guy and somehow, she has it. Here.” Tuck picked up the pieces of the iPhone and thrust them at Robin. “Go put those back where you found them. On second thought,” Tuck put them in his satchel, “I will take care of it. Don’t,” he admonished him with a single finger, “let Little John or any other member of the Gang know about this. Everything they do not understand is evil and witchcraft, and I do not believe this,” he pointed at the destroyed iPhone, “is either. Wherever or whenever she is from uses that and it is beyond our reasoning.” The friar stood up and stretched, his back popping. “Head to Nottingham. I'll follow shortly. Perhaps, we can find a bit of cheer for the poor in Nottingham-shire, cheer that will continue after the wedding party in Locksley.”

_**~~~...~~~** _

The town of Locksley had put on a spread that Genevieve's grandmother and hometown would have been proud of. It was even more impressive considering the fact they put it together in days and then put it on two days before they intended. Genevieve felt welcomed, a part of the community. If anyone thought ill of her for openly living with her husband beforehand, no one said anything.

Babies were mentioned several times. Genevieve smiled. Sadly, but she smiled. 

Sir Rodrick caught her off-guard and kissed her again. Guy pulled him off, not so good-naturedly, not that Rodrick realized it. He had had quite a bit of wedding spirits! After that, Guy stayed at her side, only leaving when Joffrey or Michael the Red was nearby. 

Genevieve decided Michael's family's last name should be 'Red' – the entire family was as ginger-headed as the Weasleys! 

And a rather happy lot as well. 

_All those children!_ For not the first time that afternoon, her heart fell. There would be no babies for her and Guy. Not if they didn't let her stay and since her long chat with Val, she was convinced she was not going to be allowed to stay and they wouldn't let Guy come forward with her. And all of a sudden, her biological clock was ticking madly. 

Isabella stayed away. For that, Genevieve was grateful. 

Guy was attempting to find Thornton and Joffrey. He wanted to make sure the manor was cleared and filled with enough food and firewood for twenty four hours. Finally, he and Genevieve would get their uninterrupted night and day in bed and he intended on keeping her unclothed the entire time. 

He had a fantasy, one that included Genevieve sprawled on her back on his dining table and he planned to make good on it the next day!

He also had fears; fears that included Hood or Vaisey pestering them day and night! 

“Gisborne, who would have thought you would get over your leper so fast!” Vaisey materialized out of nowhere. “You were such a complete mess after the death of the last one, I thought I would have to replace you. I could not bear to go through that again with you. You are too valuable to me and training a new Master-at-Arms would be too time-consuming.”

Guy stayed silent.

This vexed the sheriff. “Take care not to kill this one, Gisborne.” He put his fingertips dramatically to his temples. “Especially after I took such pains to have that silly witchcraft charge dropped. I am sure you would like to deal with him in a similar manner in which you dispatched his daddy.” 

“The thought crossed my mind.” 

_Ah. A response._ The Lord of Nottingham smiled. “I am sure it did. He should be gone from Nottingham by now and I have let him know if he does something so stupid again, I will allow you to deal with him.” A snort from the knight let his master know he was listening. “I saved her pretty little neck for a reason, Gisborne. She seems to keep you focused and grounded. It had best continue.”

Again, Guy returned to silence, his toes digging into his boots in boredom. 

This continued to irritate the sheriff. He rose on his toes before settling back down. “If she or you could convince Lord Reginald to join the Black Brotherhood, I would be eternally grateful. His addition to our pact would be invaluable! But valuable or not, too many of the guards would kill to take your place. Do remember that.” With that, the man wandered away, meandering about the crowd, not seeming to notice many stepped away from him, avoided him.

Thornton materialized at Guy's elbow. “Shall we prepare the hall, my lord?” 

Guy continued to stare aimlessly at the crowd. Many had congratulated him, sincerely happy for him. The villagers hadn't spoken to him this much ever! He didn't know how to feel about that. It made him feel... weird. Nice, but strange! A group of musicians had been playing for an hour, many of the villagers dancing, including Father Thomas and Father Harold, something Guy actually found rather amusing. Reginald and Aedyth had extended their congratulations several times, something that Guy was shocked he craved.

“My lord? The hall?” 

Guy leaned over slightly. “Prepare the hall. I would like one to two days provisions; food, water, woodpile. We will not wish to be disturbed.”

“Would you like a guard posted?” The man was smiling.

“That would be perfect. Find Joffrey, Michael the Red, and Sir Rodrick, if he isn't falling down drunk and under a table somewhere.”

_Where did Vaisey run off to? And where is Genevieve?_

_**~~~...~~~** _

“Well, missy,” Vaisey was standing next to her, Guy, or no one else for that matter, nearby to hear a word that slippery weasel was saying. She immediately began to look for Guy. “You managed to snare him in. Aren't you proud of yourself!”

“I love him very much, my lord,” she whispered. _'Ah there he is!'_ Guy was on the other side of the pond, in front of the manse, speaking to Thornton and Joffrey. She willed him to look up, see her, see Vaisey, anything. “I consider myself very fortunate.”

“I am sure you do.” The man had his hands behind his back. Finally, she caught Guy's eye, the knight immediately heading in her direction. It would still take him several minutes to get there. “You mind your manners, Lay-dee Gisborne. I did not take any lip from his previous leper. I will not take yours.” 

“I have no idea what you are talking about.” 

_This one was as cagey as Gisborne's last leper._ “Well, you just keep your nose to yourself and do not interfere with your husband's ambitions, like his last leper friend tried to. Just think,” his tone lightened up, “his gain, is your gain. Speaking of gains, you should know I save your pretty little neck this morning from a witch's dunking chair.” 

Guy was getting closer. “I heard there was some ugliness.” She did not see the upper shutters of Guy's home being closed; did not hear them being locked.

“Yes.” The word was drawn out. Had anyone been looking, they would have thought the sheriff of Nottingham and the new Lady Gisborne were having a nice and empty chat. “It would have been quite ugly for you.” 

“I suppose you wish a favor.” The lower windows were now being closed. Fiona and Eleanor were packing food, platters and quietly taking them around to the back, to the kitchen entrance. 

“Not a favor, per se. I noticed you are rather close to Lady Aedyth. Perhaps you could drop in her ear to have a chat with her husband. Something he and I are both interested in. Perhaps we could come to a... mutual agreement. Ah. Gisborne. Come to retrieve your wife?” 

“I wish to dance with my wife.” He swept her into his one, free arm and glided her away from Vaisey.

“Guy, I don't really dance.” 

“Neither do I,” he smiled down at her, weaving her into the crowd, much to the amusement of the other dancers. He leaned over, whispering into her ear. “Allow me to lead. I would like to get us into the manse without much notice.” For a time, they wove in and out, between couples, Guy neatly steering her away from others who wished to take a turn and ever closer to the hall. “Do you see where we are?” Genevieve looked, noticing Thornton was nodding, seemingly with the music and Joffrey, along with Rodrick were conversing like old friends, in front of the manor's one open door. “Take my hand.”

Genevieve grasped the calloused palm of her husband, the two backing up, away from the dancers. Guy slowly spun her once, twice...

“OY! Aye wanna kiss t'bride!”

The newly married couple made a mad dash-

“Aye kissed 'er fer ye!” 

-slamming the door behind them and throwing the bar. 

“Quick. Check the kitchen door!” Genevieve heard the yell and ran, noticing the food on the table, neatly arrayed and Guy pounding behind her. The kitchen door was already barred, as were the windows from inside. Both bride and groom watched as the door bounced from being beaten on, before the sounds of a scuffle, feet being dragged away.

“They be out when they be good 'n ready!” Rodrick's voice rose over the din. “Iffn aye were Sir Guy, aye wuldn't be ready fer a week!” 

Genevieve was too busy giggling to realize Guy had her by the hand and was pulling her into the main hall and towards the steps. He started kissing her at the bottom, backing her up the stairway, his mouth attempting to canvas her entire face as both stepped upwards. They reached the landing, somehow managed to get into Guy's bedroom without banging into the walls. 

His room, now truly their room, was dark, one or two lamps lit. It was stuffy, too early in the day to be shut up. Guy turned her loose long enough to unbar the front window, cracking it to let in fresh, autumn air, the party below now cranking to a noisier level, as the bride and groom had disappeared. There would be aching heads and upset stomachs on the morrow but no one would complain. 

Guy turned and looked at his bride, flushed in her cheeks, a happy exhaustion covering both. He smirked, one side of his mouth going up. He said something he thought he would never say.

“Hello wife.”

_**~~~...~~~** _

_**My eyes are open wide** _

_**~~~...~~~** _

_I know the first piece of artwork is rather silly and nonsensical, but it was too cute to not use!_


	34. 33 ... not...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Warning: This is wedding night. Nothing more. Nothing less. Two people in love doing what people in love do; get nekkid and sweat. And say some pretty pink and fluffy things to each other. Noooooo plot moving at all. Much. Do watch who is looking over your shoulder. PS. Happy Birthday Richard 'Guy' Armitage._

_**Manna from Heaven** _

_**Chapter 33** _

_**...not...** _

“Hello, wife.”

The sound of it felt good, felt right and Genevieve smiled, before her smile fell into something melancholy. 

Guy picked up on her mood immediately. “You are not happy? Did I forget something? Have I done something-”

“No!” Genevieve's hands came up, as if to ward off something evil. “No. It's just...”

“I have forgotten something, the celebration was not to your liking-”

“Guy, stop.” Now she reached forward, grasping his jerkin. “Everything here was perfect. I just wish my grandmother were here.” 

Realization dawned on his features. He bent over, to whisper in her ear. “I wish my mother and father were here. I hope they would think I have chosen well.” With every entrance in the manse locked and barricaded, Guy slowly removed the sling from his jerkin. He extended his arm with a hiss, his fingers stretching widely. He pulled his arm back inwards, watching his fingers claw into a fist. He exhaled and relaxed. “Would you like some wine?” He nodded to the table, where a bottle and two goblets were placed. 

“Yes. I'll pour.” Quickly, Genevieve uncorked the wine and filled both chalices, giving one to her husband, before taking a sip. The musicians in the yard changed from a lively jig to a slower piece of music, the sounds drifting upwards through the cracked window. The temperature and sun had just reached their zenith, but Guy was watching Genevieve yawn. Taking her goblet from her, he set both on the table and put his arms around her, swaying gently. 

“I thought you said you didn't dance.” 

“My feet have not moved from the spot in the floor. I would not call that dancing.” 

A woman's giggle rose on the air. “How much you want to bet there will be a rise in the population here in Nottingham in nine months?” 

“I will not bet a single sou or crown. I know for a fact there will be such a rise.” Guy inhaled. “There is always such a happening after celebrations and holidays. Snowfalls.” Guy's fingers danced at the back of her neck and the jewelry Genevieve wore around her throat came sliding down and into his waiting hands. As he set it aside on the table, he reached for her, his mouth canvasing, caressing. By the time he had her backed up against the bed, her dress was pooled around her feet and as she stepped out of it, he kicked it to the side. Mindful of his shoulder, Genevieve undressed him as well, his mailed jacket dropped in the floor, the laces of his breeches untied and loosened. 

His hands were huge, she had forgotten how large they were, and they encased her face, his thumbs stroking her temples. “You are exhausted. Did you not sleep well at the convent?” 

“No.” Genevieve smiled slightly. “The bed was lumpy, narrow and cold.” 

Guy's side smile was full of regret and he turned her, facing the bed. “Up you go.” He smacked her lightly on the fleshy part of her rear-end. “On your stomach.” 

Genevieve did as he asked, pulling down the quilt and grabbing a pillow, she pulled it under her head, glorying in his lingering scent on the linen covering. She heard glass, pottery clinking from the small room where Guy kept his clothing. “What are you doing?” 

“Getting something you like.” There was more noise when he returned, setting the small bottle down on the table, before peeling the rest of his clothing off. 

“You know,” she yawned, “I could do that for you.” 

“I have finished.” The knight didn't seem aware of his wife's appreciative scrutiny of his backside as he turned to retrieve the vial of oil that Genevieve recognized from weeks past. As he turned, his eyes caught hers, one side of his mouth lifting in mirth. “Like what you see?” 

“My lord, you have the most beautiful legs,” Genevieve's eyes drifted to his groin, “among other things.” 

“Miss me?” 

“Horribly.” Genevieve laid her head back on the pillow while Guy padded across the room. He leaned over, planting a kiss on her derriere. 

“You have no idea how much I have missed you curled up next to me.”   
_  
What am I going to do when you are gone?_

Genevieve's eyes were closed, so she did not see the momentary flash of pain across his face and had she seen it, she would have mistaken it for pain in his shoulder, rather than the pain in his heart. “I have missed you as well.” She felt a long dribble of oil down her spine, the scent of roses rising in the air. “The bed was lumpy and uncomfortable, it rained and smelled moldy and the nuns sang all the time, stuff I didn't understand.” 

“Dreadful.” The bed sank as her husband climbed up on the mattress, the ropes beneath creaking. He settled on the back of her legs, his index and middle finger gliding up her backbone, from the small of her back to her neck.

“But the food was good!” 

His fingertips pressed, dragged back down. “Fiona will be disheartened.” 

Genevieve peered over her shoulder. “It wasn't _that_ good.” 

Guy snorted lightly, both hands now working the muscles in Genevieve's back. True to what he told her earlier, while his left shoulder didn't hurt as much, it was still sore, so most of the massaging pressure came from his right hand. For a time, the only sound in the room was the gentle groaning from the bed's supporting cables and the crackling of the fireplace, which warmed the room.

“Genevieve?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Might I ask you a question?” 

She didn't hesitate. “Sure. Fire away.” 

Guy's forehead furrowed at the odd comment, but continued. “When did you decide I was worthy of your love?” 

Genevieve thought for a moment. “You mean, when did I fall in love with you?” 

Oil drenched fingers were now splayed, encompassing her entire back. “I would think that would mean the same thing.” 

She thought back. “I suppose I began to fall in love with you when you took me to the little pond out in the woods.” 

Fingers came down, pressure back at the small of her back. She was vaguely aware he was hard. He was very aware of that fact. “Began?” 

“Hmm mmm.” Her voice was far away. “When I realized how special that place was to you and you had never shared it with anyone but me, I began to fall in love with you.”   
_  
She had feelings for me... even then..._

“And then the first night we made love and you didn't give up? And you wouldn't stop until...”

_I gave you pleasure and bound you to me..._

Her voice caught in her throat. “You took such care and was so determined that that night would be perfect.” Again, silence for a moment. “I knew by the time I went to sleep in your arms, my heart was no longer mine.” She exhaled. “Your turn.” 

The kneading had spread to her sides, gently massaging the outer curve of her breasts. “My turn?” 

“When did you fall in love with me?” 

The silence was over-whelming. Genevieve would swore he was asleep or had left, save his hands still working her back. “I wanted you. I will not deny that. But...”

“But?” 

_How to say this..._

“But?” 

Genevieve missed the mischievous smile, one Guy's mother would have recognized. “That is not a toilet!” he mimicked her. “It is a stock pot on shelf!” The two began laughing together. “You were standing, in front of the privy chamber, with your arms out and yelling at me as if the chamberpot were my fault!”

_And you were the most glorious thing I have ever seen._

Genevieve's sides were shaking with her giggles. “You did not fall in love with me while I was yelling about the chamber pot!” 

Guy's laughter died down, but the smile was still on his face. “I feared I had feelings for you, when you took Zeus out for a ride and I discovered Robin Hood had tried to rob you. All I could think from that moment on was I had to protect you. Somehow.” He resumed the massage, feeling her relax under him and knowing what that meant. “My descent into madness continued when you changed into the grey dress, acting the fine lady in what looked to be a peasant's dress in your outrageous footwear. And then...”

“And when did you go completely mad?” 

He swallowed hard, praying this would not sound as wretched as it sounded to him. “The night we first made love. A young serving girl in the castle offered me her virginity in exchange for crowns to pay for a healer for her mother.” He shook his head, as if to fling the memory from his thoughts and bit his tongue to keep from blurting the girl had partially disrobed.

Genevieve stiffened up. “You fled the castle to keep from defiling a young... Felicity?” 

“Yes, Felicity.” The knight leaned over and whispered in her ear. “And no, I did not flee. I had no desire for virgin flesh. I only desired you.” He sat back up and resumed the sensual massage. “I gave her the crowns anyway, in exchange for keeping my rooms there clean and freshened.” 

“Are you still paying her?” 

“Aye.” 

In the low light, Guy could see her smiling. “See? I was right. I told you so.” 

His hands were now around her upper back and her neck, the scar from the arrow not so pronounced. “Told me what?” 

Genevieve yawned. “I told you you were a good man. I knew it.” 

The knight shook his head, the absurdity of it all. _Me. A good man. What rot!_ He continued to rub her back, taking great joy and pleasure in the feel of the softness of it. He was hard and when he slid from her legs to roll her over and kiss her, he discovered that, she was asleep.

_**~~~...~~~** _

It was dark, the only light in the room being the low glow from the fireplace. There were no sounds of revelry or music drifting up from the town square, all being silent, the party-goers having left and gone home. A large, welcome body lay next to her and in a place of mostly still asleep, Genevieve rolled over and snuggled in before suddenly coming completely awake.

“Oh no!” she moaned. “I've slept through my wedding night!” Her hand went to her mouth, in a vain attempt to stifle her words. 

“No, you have not,” a rich, velvet baritone whispered in her ear. “The night is not over, yet.” Guy pulled her closer, his mouth finding hers, waking her fully, arousing her, desire growing in both. For some time, the two simply reveled in each other, the taste of accessible skin and salt. 

When Genevieve began to gasp for breath, Guy leaned back, his eyes glittering in the near dark. “You needed to sleep and I have spent the last several hours wondering what on earth to do with you.” 

Genevieve had to smile at the admission. “What do you mean, what to do with me?” 

Guy's left shoulder hitched slightly, an attempt to shrug. “Why, it is our wedding night and all of my adult life, I have dreamed of initiating my bride, my wife, into the pleasures of the marriage bed, however,” he pulled her close to squelch her suddenly rising outrage, “my wife is well-versed and has pleased me for some weeks, so I have to wonder what can we do that we have not done?” He leaned back and tipped her chin up. “How do I bind you to me so when the angels of heaven take you, you are still bound to me?” 

“I don't want to leave. I've told them that.”

The knight stared at her for what seemed to be a long, long time. “Are you hungry?” 

It suddenly dawned on Genevieve. “Oh, there's food on the table! We should-”

“I have put it away,” Guy whispered. “I do know my larder and cold - cellar and both are well stocked.” Lips grazed her forehead. “Are you hungry?” 

A week of abstinence from this man had awakened every nerve ending in her body. She pressed her lips to his Adam's apple. “Not for food,” she breathed against him. 

For a time, he allowed her tease him, glory in his scent, the taste of him. As she began to move downward, he stopped her. “I wish to explore you in a new way.” 

Alarm bells went off in Genevieve's head, but she smiled, trying to cover. “I wish to explore you-”

“No,” one long single digit covered her lips. Guy untangled himself from Genevieve's embrace and rolled from the bed. He stirred the fire, bringing it up to a moderate roar and then lit the lamps in the room. When the room was sufficiently aglow, he climbed onto the foot of the bed, leaning against the bedpost. “Sit up.” Genevieve did as he asked, pulling the pillows behind her. 

“Now what?” She crossed her legs, Indian style. “Would you like to discuss the menu for this week or-”

“I desire to watch you pleasure yourself.” 

Genevieve's jaw dropped. “What?” 

Guy's sigh was over-dramatic and he rolled his eyes. “I wish to watch you pleasure yourself.” He realized his wife was blushing. “I know you are not shy.”

“No, but-”

“I wish to watch.” 

_Someday, I will not be here and I want to remember, want to see what you will do..._

His hand wrapped around himself and he slowly stroked upward.

Still blushing, Genevieve moved to the opposite corner of the bed and proceeded to build a nest of pillows. Settling back, she spread her legs. Her fingers drifted down, cupping herself and hiding herself from him. “You want to watch?” 

“Yes.” Stroke down.

“You want to watch me masturbate.” She rubbed in a circle.

“Is that what you call it?” 

“Yes.” She rubbed slowly again. 

She was going to tease him, he could tell. “You make the rules,” he whispered. “For now.” 

“And you'll obey?” She stroked down, spreading before covering again.

“Until both of us have received pleasure or until you plead for my help and release me from my oath.”

Her grin was positively feral. “You stay over there.” Her middle finger cut a path through her lips. “Until I say otherwise.”

Guy's eyes narrowed. “If you say.”

“And I say, you stay over there.” She smacked herself lightly and covered her mons again, the fingers from her other hand, flicking him away. “Until I say so.” 

He was beginning to get hard and he laughed softly at her attempt to gain the upper hand. “I am right here.” 

“Well, you stay right there.” Her fingertips began to work in a rhythmic circle, Guy watching, stroking himself, waiting for the plea he knew would come. 

Visually, the dance of her fingers was erotic, for a time, Guy forgetting the pain in his shoulder. But as he suspected, Genevieve was falling into an old trap, one he was counting on and prepared to take advantage of. 

“Are you wet?” His question hung in the curtains over the bed. 

“Anxious?” The circular motion continued. 

“Curious.” The shrug was becoming painful. 

Genevieve held up a single finger. “I could check...”

Guy held up two fingers, pressed together, his request and intent perfectly clear. 

Genevieve's responding smirk was evil and Guy wondered if she was mocking him. A second finger joined the one raised one and it was with great pleasure he watched as she slowly inserted both digits in that place he knew he would be buried in sooner than later. “You like?” 

The knight nodded. “Oh yessss...” 

She withdrew her fingers, held them up to the candlelight, before inserting them in her mouth. Guy damn near fell off the bed when she sucked them and then informed him she could probably stand to be a bit more... moist. “I could help with that.”

Again, she waved her fingers. “You stay over there.” 

Guy forced his stroking to remain slow, uneven. Anything to put off the inevitable. “As you wish.” 

Again, she spent time, teasing herself, teasing him. Twice more, she inserted one, two fingers within that heated cavity, always lamenting she just wasn't wet enough. 

She was becoming frustrated. 

This intrigued the man sitting across from her. He knew she had brought herself to completion before, was very much capable of it; he remembered quite well, standing outside of the second bedroom, listening to her cry out with satisfaction. The difference this time being, she was doing this for him, not for her and it stifled her and he well suspected from the moment he asked this from her, this would happen. Before he realized what he was doing, the fingers on his right hand began walking across the mattress, much like a spider, intent on prey. Covertly, she watched, continuing to toy with her clit, as his fingers crawled towards her, up her leg. Just as he reached her hand, her other hand pushed him away. 

“No, no, no,” she whispered shaking her head, wagging a finger at him. 

“Genevieve,” he admonished, “you are not progressing.” 

Again, two fingers delved in, her hips rocking on the digits. Genevieve removed them and rather than inspecting or tasting them herself, she instead, offered them up to him, as a treat?

_Or a sacrifice..._

He took both in his mouth, his tongue swirling around them, stroking the tips, the nails, the dainty knuckles, sucking them completely in, causing his wife to quietly gasp. Removing them from his mouth, Guy kissed her palm. “I love the taste of you,” he began, “however, there should be much more of you on your fingers.” He closed his eyes, relishing her caress of his jaw. “But there is not. Why is that?” 

Genevieve's face fell. “I don't know.” 

“Oh,” he whispered, “but you do know why.” He sat completely up, holding her hand to his face. “Tell me why, Genevieve.” 

She swallowed as her face fell. “I'm not concentrating.”

“And why is Genevieve not concentrating?” Rather than answer, she pulled in further. “We have been through this before, Genevieve. Do not become bashful after all the secrets we have shared.” He asked again. “Why is Genevieve not concentrating?” 

She swallowed and whispered so softly, he had to strain to hear her. “Because I'm concentrating on you.” 

“Why?”

“For your pleasure.” 

Guy was now sitting at her feet. He reached for her other hand. “You pleasing yourself brings me pleasure.” His mouth lifted in a partial smile. “Would you like my help?” 

“Please.” 

The smirk deepened. “How would you like my help?” 

Her bashfulness fell away and when she looked up at him, the fire in her eyes was unmistakable. “Taste me. Make me wet.”

If he were truly a wolf, he would be circling her by now. “Release me from my oath.” 

There was the barest pause. 

“Banana.” 

It was the plea he had been waiting for since she awoke. As he settled between her legs, his right arm wrapping around one leg, lifting it over his shoulder, and his left held close in, he watched as she finally relaxed back into the pillows, the ease she took allowing him to take charge, be in control. 

_Mon cœur, ce qui va vous faire quand je ne suis pas ici pour vous?_

Gently, he brushed across her lips, finding amusement, not for the first time, at her well maintained pubic- 

_landing strip_

-area. He kissed her there several times, whispering against her-

_Je t'aime. Tu es à moi. Emmenez-moi avec vous._

-before using his fingers to open her, expose her to his eye. It was immediately obvious, as he had known, that while she enjoyed teasing him, she had yet again ignored her body's needs in tending, even visually, to his. Guy clamped down on his ire at this obvious revelation, vowing silently to correct her inability or refusal to follow that simple instruction before the Sabbath morning mass.

He blew on the sensitive flesh, something that caused her to gasp and her leg, which was wrapped over his shoulder, to contort, tighten, before she verbally clamped down on her vocal outburst. “Genevieve, I want you to relax and enjoy this. Make all the sound you need.” He looked up, captured her gaze. “I am only here to help, not to bring you over.” Before she could question his intent, he lowered his mouth, encompassing her and sucking her in. He continued and when she began to move, 

_oooooooooooooohgaaaaaaaaaaaawwwwwwwwdyssssssssssss..._

he inserted his middle and ring fingers, convinced that now she was making progress. Slowly, he drew and withdrew, satisfied when she became sufficiently drenched. 

She bore down, reaching and building with him, when he withdrew a final time, sliding those same two fingers down and easily moved them into that lower, tighter cavity.

Genevieve gasped and stopped moving.

Never stopping his rhythm, Guy looked up. “There is no reason to be frightened. Do you trust me?” Genevieve nodded slowly. “Good. Then trust me and give me your hand.” As she reached down, he placed it over her labia. “Finish this. I want to watch.” 

As she did what he requested, he continued that slow, patient prod, his index finger eventually traveling back into that wetter passage he normally traversed. He watched her fingers move faster, her own momentum as her hips propelled her to that lofty goal. Whatever was issuing forth from her mouth was not any language Guy could speak, but he understood every utterance, every hiss, and growl and groan as she reached down within herself to find that heat and need, press that place inside her against his finger. 

And when she finally reached it, the knight leaned up, mesmerized by the arch of her back, the veins in her neck and shoulders that stood out and the visible throb of the pulse in the joint of her left thigh. 

As he had learned in the past, he lovingly caressed that part of her while she came down and when her breath returned to normal, he left the bed, much to her distress, and poured water into the washbowl on the table and proceeded to wash his hands, paying close attention to his fingers that had been so enjoyably encased up her arse. 

“Guy?” 

“I am coming back.” Quickly, he dried his hands from a linen that was part of a pile on the table, and returned to the bed, only to pleasantly find himself pounced on before he could climb up, with her mouth wrapped around him like a wet cloth. 

He allowed her to minister to him, reaching up – painfully, truth be told – and grabbing the heavy curtain bar above the bed, so he would have a better view. For a time, he enjoyed, reveled in the feel of her mouth, her tongue, swirling about him, coaxing him to the edge, only to back off and deny him. 

_'How dare she?'_ he thought, humorously. _'Who is the Dom in this relationship?'_ It occurred to him that he had married a _petite allumeuse_ – a little tease – and deep within his very jealous heart, he knew that she was and only had been this way for him. It occurred to him that she was like a butterfly, emerging from her cocoon and he had caused the unfurling of her wings. For what seemed like the one hundredth time, she brought him close, only to turn him completely loose and back up to her corner. 

“What do you want, m'lady?” 

Oh, he could tell by the glint in her eye, she knew what game he was playing. Coyly, she reared up, scooting back to her corner of the bed, her pointer finger beckoning him to join her. Slowly, he followed her up, much like a predator entrapping his prey, his feral grin covering up the screaming of his shoulder. A part of him was howling to beg off, drown his pain in opiumed wine. He ignored this wretched voice, squelching it to a silent niche. As he reached her, his right hand slid behind her, catching her above the hips and pulling her down to him. Her legs opened, in an attempt to regain her balance and Guy impaled her in one, long lunge, burying himself to the hilt and delighting in her heat. His mouth found her neck, the spot beneath her earlobe and he worried it, unaware and uncaring that his attention to it would leave a mark that would last for days.

He had missed this, missed her, missed her earthy delight in him, his attention, her obvious devotion to his body, his desire, 

_S'il vous plaît de lui permettre de rester d'autre je vais mourir..._

-his love. 

Much like that had one week before, the two rocked together, slowly, seeming not to be in a hurry, simply enjoying the closeness, the joining, the...

One.

But off in the distance, the remote pain in his shoulder slowly began to reassert itself. With a groan that Genevieve heard, but Guy was unaware of, he rolled to his right side, pulling her backwards, spooning her into his embrace. His left hand slid between her legs, scissoring them, and again, he found her, diving in at a strange, but erotic angle. Yet again, they found their niche, their rhythm, unconsciously, he pulled her close, his free hand cupping her breast, rolling her nipple. He was coming to completion at an impossible speed and apparently, Genevieve was yet again paying attention to his desire and his need as she backed into him hard, her hand finding herself. Somewhere in the heat, the harsh breathing, his hand left her nipple and his fingers, which not too long before, had been buried deep in his wife's arse, were now encased in her mouth, her tongue sucking on them much as she had his cock.

He came first, an explosion unrivaled, his roar muffled into her shoulder, while her own coming arrived as his subsided. Guy held her close, tight, entranced by the jerking of her body, marveling that even though this was her second orgasm, she seemed to spasm much longer than he.

Time was fleeting, or was it forever as the two came down from the rafters. Genevieve was the first to realize they were both laying in a very wet spot and Guy soon after deciding the extra linens on the table were left just for this. 

There was joyful laughter, unexpected in this marriage bed as the two spread the linen over that wet spot and then as they blew out the lamps, taking delight in the low glow of the fire. While stoking the fireplace again, Genevieve saw Guy's grimace of pain and insisted that he either take a low dose of opium with the last of the wine or at the very least, take some of her Tylenol. 

Guy opted for the wine. 

As they lay in utter repose and peace, Genevieve curled into Guy's right side, Genevieve waited until Guy's breathing began to slow in relaxation before posing something that had been on her mind for some time, fearful of his response. 

“Guy?” 

“Hmmm.” His eyes were closed and she drew her finger down from his hairline, over his nose, to the cupid's bow of his lips and on to his chin. His hand stopped her from going lowers, gently clasping her about her wrist and tucking her knuckles under his chin. 

“Can I ask you something?” 

One eye slitted open. “Yes.” He turned to look at her. 

“You won't get mad?” 

Guy's mouth made a funny moue; a grimace Genevieve recognized as her husband sucking on the front of his teeth. “I am waiting.” 

“You won't get mad?”

“If you do not ask me now, I will go to sleep.”

Genevieve exhaled hard, her ire obvious, which amused Guy. “What is it about my rear-end that you are so interested in?” 

“Rear. End.” 

“Yes. My rear-end.” He was staring at her as if she were speaking a different language. Ah. Maybe she was. “My derriere, my ass.” 

“Ah.” His gaze returned to the rafters of the bed. Guy yawned once, his jaw cracking. “That delightful mound of flesh, I love to nip and tease.”

“Yes, that would be what I'm talking about.” She actually sounded slightly annoyed. Under normal circumstances, Guy would have taken much amusement at her ire. 

“Ask nicely, mon petit,” he whispered, holding her tighter. “Honey will gain you more.” 

Slightly admonished, Genevieve cuddled in closer. “Why are you so determined to... do things to it?” 

Once before, early on, she had voiced, not an objection, but irate curiosity as to why he was interested in knowing her there carnally. At first, his thought was _why not_ , but as weeks passed and especially in the last few days, when their separation had been forced by circumstances, he had thought on this as to why. It had not occurred to him much before, the knowledge some did despite The Church's admonishment against it, but as far as Guy was concerned, the Church had no business decreeing what did and did not happen in a couple's marriage bed.

“No one has been there, Genevieve. You have not experienced a man in that spot.” He took a breath and hurried on, lest she interrupt him. “This would be a first time for you, something I would be the first to explore with you. ” He rolled slightly, kissing her forehead, before traveling to linger at her lips. When he lifted so both could breath, he whispered, “First time. Think about that.” 

With that, he rolled onto his back and fell asleep.

Leaving Genevieve to wonder about that admission and what it meant.

_**~~~...~~~** _

_**By the way, I made it through the day** _

_**~~~...~~~** _

_Mon cœur, ce qui va vous faire quand je ne suis pas ici pour vous?_ \- My heart, what will you do when I am not here for you?  
 _  
Je t'aime. Tu es à moi. Emmenez-moi avec vous_ – I love you. You are mine. Take me with you.  
 __  
S'il vous plaît de lui permettre de rester, d'autre je vais mourir... Please let her stay, else I will die.


	35. Chapter 34 ... to leave thee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_A/N: Mop Warning. Towel warning. DO NOT EAT OR DRINK while reading. Make sure small children and impressionable adults and pets are locked up while reading. Tissue warning._ **

_**Manna from Heaven** _

_**Chapter 34** _

_**...to leave thee** _

__  
Such pretty things  
you said to me ---

_Unbutton me_  
some more   
__  
For I am yours  
to take tonight  
upon this forest floor 

_Let's make a bed_  
in autumn leaves,   
and leave  
no leaf unturned   
__  
Beneath these trees  
please teach me,  
please --- 

_To learn_  
a love  
unlearned 

_\---Michael Faudet_

 

By Sunday evening, Genevieve felt like a rag doll. 

Limp, used, filled up, stuffed...

But mostly? 

Limp. 

_Aedyth was right. No rest for the weary! How on earth does he manage to... oh yeah, forgot! My bunny-vibe and fuzzy handcuffs! My toys are being used as weapons against me!_

She recalled being kissed awake, being made love to slowly and sweeeeeet, honey-child, the man had lips like honey! And he could coax the dew from the petals! 

_Ahem._

She vaguely recalled coming down from that cloud of wonderful, beyond satisfied sex to being rolled in a blanket of pure D bliss and heat. She didn't remember being rolled up in layers of quilt, simply dreamed of being cocooned in web of love - 

-before waking up to the smell of coffee. Strong..

_COFFEE!!!_

Genevieve's feet hit the floor with a solid thud. Looking around, she realized her clothes were nowhere in sight. She looked in Guy's … closet... 

Nothing. 

_Hmmmmmm..._

After taking care of morning business, Genevieve crept to the doorway – which was open by the way - 

_Still smelling coffee..._

She listened carefully, listened for the sound of anyone besides her husband. It was cold in the room, the sound of rain steadily coming down. Genevieve wrapped her arms around her chest.

“Guy?” 

“Come to the top of the stairs.” 

She looked around the room again, still saw nothing, before tiptoeing across the hall to her old room. 

_Nothing there either... damn, it's cold..._

_hmmmm..._

“Guy?”

“Come. To. The. Rail.” It wasn't terse, or angry. Simply a command. And an authoritative one at that. 

“I don't have any clothes on.” 

“Neither do I.” 

Genevieve made her way to the upper landing, overlooking the hall. Guy had been very busy. A trencher and two pewter plates were set in front of their chairs, along with two earthen clay mugs.

And he wasn't lying. He was stalking around the room in his birthday suit, stark naked and obviously unashamed. 

Not that he needed to be. 

The fire in the large fireplace was high, burning brightly and the room was not only well heated, but glowing in the darkened hall. 

Genevieve began her descent down the stairs. “How long will it be just us?” 

“Until Monday morning.” Guy flicked his fingers, halting her on the upper floor. “Back up the stairs.” 

Genevieve found herself backed-up and pressed to the wall, cool flesh meeting hers. “My lady,” the knight whispered in her ear, “you reek of sweat and sex. When was the last time you bathed?” 

Genevieve's jaw dropped in indignation. “Why... you...” 

Before she could lambast him, she found herself in the bathing room, discovering the tub was partially full and steaming. With his right hand, Guy grabbed a large mitt and swung the arm holding the pot of water over the fire out and one-handed, moved the pot from the fire and poured it into the tub. “I believe I will reward my staff handsomely for dealing with the bath after this weekend.” He nodded for her to get in, handing her basket of soap and hair cleansers to her as she sank in. He checked the water in the smaller pails, making sure they were sufficiently warm. “I remember well bathing in a cold creek while in France.” He turned and looked Genevieve in the eye, all serious. “It made things shrivel in hard to reach places,” he dead-panned. 

Genevieve burst into laughter. “Are you going to join me?” 

“I have had my bath, as I would like to eat before noon.” Two hands cupped her chin from behind, tilting her back and looking up. A sweet kiss was placed on her forehead. “I will let you know when breakfast is ready. Please be thorough.” 

Genevieve lounged in that steaming tub, the fact dawning on her that she had not bathed since Monday. Guy was right; she _did_ smell. She made quick work of her hair, her body, before leaning back and simply relishing in the steam of the bath. 

She must have nodded off, dreaming of fields and flowers, before catching a whiff of hot, hot coffee being passed in front of her nose. She opened one eye, a steaming mug waving in front of her face. 

“Fetch.” 

“Ooooooh. Mean.” She rose from the tub, dripping. She started to step from it, before noticing that Guy was backing up, holding the cup away from her and pointing to the cork bobbin. She had no idea how much he was appreciating the view as she bent over to pull the cork bobbin. She took the linen towel from him and dried off quickly, throwing it in the pile already there, before stalking him to the top of the stairs, following the scent of the brew. 

Guy continued on down the stairs, hoisting the mug, in attempt to lure her to the main hall. He set the mug, with its tantalizing vapor, rising from the rim, on the table, alongside the trencher, before looking up. “It will get cold if you do not come down now.” The knight watched as Genevieve slowly made her way to the stairs, ducking and looking about, seeing the doors and windows still barricaded. “There is no one here. Just us.” 

Breakfast was laid out on the table, a banquet for two. 

Tucking her in, Guy set the coffee... _COFFEE!!!!_... next to her plate. 

Genevieve nosed over the eggs (scrambled) and bacon (extra crispy!) before picking up her cup and inhaling the blessed steam. “How did you manage to take some of Vaisey's treasured Turkish Delight from Nottingham?” 

“As you stated before, Eleanor is very sneaky.” He sank into his own chair, picking up his own bitter brew. 

“You shouldn't encourage her.” Genevieve looked at him over the mug, her eyes smokey. “She is too sweet a girl to be encouraged to steal from someone of that man's ilk.” 

“She had help.”

“Felicity.” 

“True,” Guy nodded. “However, it was taken during the hustle of most everyone leaving and it is not the first time someone in the kitchens has done this for me. Notice,” he smirked, “I do know how to brew it.” 

“Touché.” Genevieve saluted him, before setting her drink down and turning her attention to the food set before her. She immediately realized they had a problem. 

“Is it Barbarian Feast Day?” 

Guy stared at her blankly. 

“What are we supposed to eat with?” 

Guy blinked. 

Genevieve smiled and leaned forward, kissing him full on the mouth before whispering into it. “Eating utensils. Please?” She continued to smile as the man jumped from his chair, mumbling beneath his breath, (in French and she could have sworn she heard the word 'merde' a few times) before returning with an eating knife and a spoon. She had eaten several bites of egg before remarking, “Guy. Aren't you going to eat?” 

“In time.” 

“Guy?” 

A slice of bacon materialized in front of her face, held between long fingers. “Open.” She did so, to find said slab of crispy pork inserted into her mouth. “Do not ask questions. Simply eat.” 

Genevieve found herself being fed by the large man next to her, alternating between sips of strong, black coffee. “You cook?” 

“I was forced to learn after my parents died,” he admitted quietly. “Isabella cannot boil water, so I was forced to if I did not want to eat burned or raw pork or blackened or over-boiled vegetables.” Guy stared at the wall. “Many times after she was wed, I had to fend for myself.” He shrugged, “'Tis barely tolerable, I know, but I wished to feed you something warm this morning.” He looked over to the fireplace, seeing it was still going strong. “I know you dislike the cold.” 

“It's good. Thank you.” 

There was more kissing before he continued. “Are you finished? Would you like more?” 

“I'm good.” She leaned back while he cleared the table, taking the crockery and utensils into the kitchen, where she then heard a splash. _He cooks, he cleans up after himself. He washes dishes. He's painfully neat. Goodness Genevieve, you didn't marry a man! You married a dream! Oh, please Val, can I please take him back with me?_

“Guy?”

“Wot?” 

“Is there a reason why my clothes are nowhere to be found and we are prissing about naked?” 

“Yes.” 

“Why?”

“You do not need them.” 

Genevieve mulled on this information. “For how long will I not need them?” 

“Sunday morning Mass, however you will not need them again after mass until Monday morning. If then.” 

“Oh.” 

A few minutes later, Guy padded through the main area, carrying a wine goblet, which he left on the sidebar, and sprang up the stairs, making Genevieve smile at the delightful eyeful of Guy's rear view...

“Guy?” 

“Stay there.” He disappeared around the corner, noise and clanging coming from what Genevieve suspected was the bathing room and then their bedroom, before Guy returned, his left arm back in the sling and bed pillows in his other hand. 

He threw them over the bannister, watching them drop to the floor before turning back. 

“Guy?” 

“Wot?”

“Why are there pillows in the floor?” 

“Put them in my chair.” Again, he returned to the upper landing and tossed more pillows over the rail and turned back into the upper reaches of the house. 

Shrugging, Genevieve unwrapped herself from the chair and picked up the pillows, only to have the bed quilt fall on her while she was bent over. “HEY!” 

“Oy!” He returned to their room. “Genevieve, where is your Tye-le-nol?” 

She thought for a moment, trying to remember. “It was in my gym bag, the one that was thrown at you.” 

“Ah.” The man bounced down the stairs, long silken scarves around his neck, much like a series of brightly colored boas. He smacked her smartly on the rear, as he went past her and into the side guard room. Peering through the cracked door while piling the pillows in Guy's seat, she thought she saw a swatch of red, that looked suspiciously like her wedding dress, as well as the saddlebags that Eleanor packed at the convent. “Ah ha!” There was the sound of a zipper being closed and the shaker rattle of a small maraca. Guy exited the room, closing the door behind him. Gingerly holding the bottle in his left hand, he managed to get the lid off and tapped to capsules into his palm. As was his wont, he swallowed them dry, grimacing as they stuck in his throat. He picked up his wine goblet and drank after the fact.

“You know, it's easier to take those _with_ the drink.” 

He waved her off and grabbed the bed quilt. Quickly, he threw it over the table, much like a table cloth and picked up two of the pillows, tossing them at the top end.

“Guy?” Genevieve whispered. “What are you---ACK!” Genevieve found herself lifted and tossed, much like a sack of onions, on top of the table. Grabbing her feet, Guy turned her lengthwise and strode to the foot of the table, at her feet. 

His smile was positively evil. “I am fulfilling a fantasy I have had since the first time I laid with you.”

Genevieve did not hide her growing fear. “Fantasy?” 

The knight picked up her left foot in his hand. "I want to lay you on the table and have you to break my fast.” His eyes were bright in the shadows as he brought the arch of her foot to his lips. “Now, I will break my fast.” 

Genevieve's spine bowed from the table, every nerve-ending going to full alert as Guy's tongue snaked around her heel and reached her instep, planting gentle kissing and nipping sweetly, before making sure each of her toes were nibbled on. Cupping her foot in his left hand, he reached for the other, bringing it to his mouth as well. 

And so it was how Guy spent the next half hour, feasting on every inch of his wife's body, her ankles, her calves. He nipped the curve of her hip, inhaled the small of her back, kissed up her spine, rolled her over to feast on her breasts, her neck, 

She had no idea her armpits were so sensitive! 

He paid close attention to softness of her stomach, the indention of her belly, the joint of her hip, before rolling her over again and canvasing yet again her hip. She bounced so-

_Oh GAWD!_

-hard when he reached her knee, he rose from the table and retrieved the scarves he had placed over the chair. Within a minute, Genevieve found herself on her stomach, face in the pillows and her wrists tied to one of the table legs. Again, his tongue slowly made its way over the sensitive flesh on the back of her knees, the tendons, her thighs. She thrust her face into the pillow, muffling her cries.

There was a sharp crack on the curve of her bottom. Genevieve raised up quickly. “What?” 

“Did I tell you to silence yourself?” 

“Noooo...” She looked over her shoulder. 

“I want to hear you.” 

“But... the neighbors...”

That one-sided snarky grin was back. “I want to hear you.” Grasping the bottom of the quilt, he pulled it down, lifting Genevieve to her knees as she neared the bottom edge. He leaned over, yanking his chair to a better advantage, before sitting down, bringing her to the edge-

-and broke his fast.

_  
**~~~***~~~** _

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOhhhhhhh...GAWD..._

Sir Rodrick dismounted in front of Locksley Hall, just in time to hear Genevieve's first orgasm explode. With a tilt of his head, he approached Joffrey, who was standing guard at the front door trying his best to look uninterested. “Any problems?” He nodded to his knight to relieve the guard at the back door.

“No,” Joffrey shrugged. Sir Rodrick liked this guard of Sir Guy's. He was level-headed and knew his place. Followed orders well. He wondered if the man knew the provisions his lord had made for him; unusual indeed. 

“Any idea 'ow long they be plannin' on stayin' locked in?” 

Joffrey scratched the inside of his ear. “Well, aye though' aye 'eard Sir Guy mention Sunday Mass, bu' otherwise it'd be-”  
 _  
SHIIIIIIIIIIIIITFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKOHYESYESYESYESSSSSSSSSSS..._

“Monday mornin',” both men finished together, nodding in unison. 

“Goe tew Nottin'ham,” Rodrick addressed this to his guard who was being relieved, “an' tell tha' perverted pustule of a sheriff tha' Sir Guy an' 'is lady won' be inna mood tew go falconin' wit' 'im tewday.” He stared up to the sky, hands behind his back. 

_Oooooohgodohgodohgodyesssssssssssssssyesyesyes..._

“An more'n likely, no' tewmorrow, neither. Per'aps sum-thyme inna week.” The man trotted around him and made for the barn, where his horse was stabled. 

“Sir Rodrick?” Joffrey was tugging on his ear. “We're out 'ere listenin' tew 'em. Don't tha' make us perverted...puss-tules as well?” 

Rodrick had to work hard to keep from laughing loudly. He clapped the man on the shoulder. “Nah. We be perverted, bu' we no be pustules!”

_**~~~***~~~** _

Genevieve lay on her stomach, her skin glistening with sweat and breathing returning to normal. Guy had pulled the sheet back up the table, so she lay flat on it.

_Two orgasms. Two. Almost back-to-back. And that man is still walking about with a hard-on!_

“Aren't you afraid I'll break the table?” 

“No.” 

“Are you sure?” She watched as he strode to the room under the bedrooms on the second floor. 

“The table is quite sturdy, Genevieve. It takes four to six men to move it.”

“Oh.” She watched for a minute, watching to see what he was doing. “Are you going to untie me?” Her voice was nothing more than a gasp.

“No.” Guy's voice echoed from the room where he kept his ledgers. There was rattling about before he came back out and shut the door. “Lift your head.” 

Genevieve did so, before gasping as he set her vibrator down in front of her and everything suddenly went black. 

“Guy? You blind-folded me?” 

“Yes.” 

“Why?” 

With a jolt, the man began to kiss, lick her shoulder blades, her spine. “It will heighten your senses.” He could sense the tension of her back under his tongue. “Do you trust me?” 

“Yes, but-”

“Use your safe word if you feel you must. I will stop.” Suddenly, his mouth was at her ear, breathing, blowing on the delicate shell. “But I know you are brave and willing to try something that you know I desire.” His tongue darted into the small cavity before whispering, “I will make this pleasurable for you. I promise.” 

“And if it's not?” 

Genevieve felt herself being rolled on her back, Guy's hand between her thighs, opening them. “Genevieve, I have been playing with that glory hole of yours for sometime. Considering the way you fidget when I do, it is obvious you enjoy it.” The table creaked as Guy obviously climbed on it.

“There is a difference between your finger and lovely prick of yours-”

“Speaking of lovely pricks,” he interrupted, “open up.” Genevieve found her mouth full very quickly. 

Not that she minded. 

For some minutes, she ministered to him, suckled him, his own fingers teasing her. She was faintly aware of whirring as her husband flipped on the vibrator, toying with the levers. He withdrew from her mouth-”

“Guuuuuuy...”

“I fear you will bite me if this toy of yours is too much of a shock.” She felt the tip end cut a swath through her already over-stimulated vulva. There was a lick at her right breast, unexpected and causing her to rise in anticipation. “I believe you are wet enough.” In the next moment, the vibe was fully sheathed and her nipple lavished with as much attention as he had ever given it. For long minutes, she struggled to find her rhythm with Guy equally inhaling her breasts and making sure the wings of the butterfly did not make contact with her clit, keeping her off-balance, stimulated, and in need. 

“You know,” he murmured against her skin, his lips, teeth, and tongue, continuing to tease, “there are men who say more than a mouthful is too much.” 

Genevieve's response was a keening wail. 

“Of course, I believe that those women are simply more woman than they can handle.” He raised up and kissed her. “You are a lot of woman, Lady Gisborne, and you are mine.” His mouth returned to the breast he had not been playing with.

After some time of this teasing, Genevieve was aware of air, movement, as Guy moved away from the table, the vibrator removed, but still whirring. 

“Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeease...”

“Patience.” 

Her face scrunched up in ire. _The man was infuriating!_ It then dawned on her that he was as needy as she was.

“I am going to untie you,” Guy was whispering, his breath in her ear. “You may touch your breasts, but that is all.” 

“Take the blindfold off.”

“No.” 

“Whyyyyy?” It was a whine, rather than a cry. 

There was chuckling behind her, above her head. The scarves came loose from their base, and then slid from around her wrists. Immediately, Guy pressed her hands forward, to her chest, watching as she cupped herself. Again, she was aware of movement as the man walked to the foot of the table and pulled the quilt down, dragging her further down the table. Silken ties were wrapped around her knees, her feet spread as he tied them apart to the legs of the large, heavy piece of furniture.

“Guy?” 

“Yes?” There was a groan of wood as he climbed on the table above her. Unable to see, she could smell, sense him settling on the table, his knees cocooning her head and shoulders. 

If she opened her mouth, she would have a mouth full of...

Calloused hands, fingers she was well acquainted with made their way around her jawline, lifting her chin gently. “You may yell, cry, speak. What say you?” 

“Yes sir.”

“You may _not_ swear.”

“Yes sir.” 

“You are mine to toy with, please, pleasure, love. What say you?” She felt the heat of his body rising over her, his fingers reaching down between her legs and spreading her again, teasing her, making her want. 

“Yes sir.” 

The vibrator began to hum. “Do you remember the vows we repeated to each other when we wed?” 

“Love, honor, cherish-” she was quick to ramble those off.

“I promised to worship you with my body. As you promised to worship mine with yours.” 

_Adorabo ad te cum corpore_

The heat of him, the heaviness of his body, his very being was resting just above her nose. She leaned up, licking that which rested above her.

“Yes.”

“Je t'aime.” 

“I love you.” 

“Je t'adore.”

_I adore you._

“Être avec moi. Rester avec moi.”

_Please. Let me stay. Don't send me back alone._

“I will never harm you or cause you pain.” 

With that promise, he plunged the toy within her, causing her to gasp, inhale, breathe him in. Her hands left her breasts, to grasp his thighs, to grasp him, to stroke, to tease, to lick. 

She heard Guy laugh quietly, whisper, ' _Coquine, coquine,_ ' before becoming vaguely aware that her darkened world was becoming darker, as if a huge weight, a storm, was bearing down on her. 

Guy looked down between their bodies. He was now completely stretched horizontally above Genevieve. His injured shoulder was causing him great pain, but he was determined to drive her to her limits, force her to face her fears about her self-pleasure and push her beyond what she thought she could bear. He shifted his weight, trying to ignore the delicious things she was doing to him with her mouth and taking the madly gyrating butterfly into his left hand, he slid the fingers from his right hand around her perineum, to where she met the table. 

She was wet, dripping and she didn't seem to be aware when he sank first one finger, then the second into that tight cavern. She opened, welcomed, receiving the attention, pushing...

_OoooooooooooohGooooooooooooo-_

Guy lifted up, aware of the pop as he pulled himself from her mouth. He held the butterfly still, making her come for it, work for and as she hit that peak the third time,

_Yesyesyesyesshitshitfuckfuckohshitshi-_

he slid a third finger in, penetrating, pressing upwards, making room before relaxing, separating, feeling for himself the twirling of the animated object and pushing it harder into her G-spot. Her release was as strong as the previous two, something Guy was rather jealous of on one hand, and on the other, self-satisfied that he did this to her, he caused this, that once again, he and he alone, held her pleasure, her need, at his fingertips. 

Genevieve was coming down, panting, gasping for air, curse words uttered from her mouth, hanging in the air. She was vaguely aware of things – plural – were removing themselves from her body, leaving it empty, aching. She was aware of Guy moving away from her, still holding himself in check, as he untied her legs.

“Roll over.” 

With a groan, she did as he asked, tucking the pillows beneath her head and resting on her arms. Before she could inhale, she found herself sliding down the table and pulled up on her knees. Guy sat back down in the chair, his face even to what he was about to devour. He placed his hands on both hips, holding her still. He perused the gaping, wet, heat-

_Where to start, where to start..._

“Well!” Genevieve exclaimed, not realizing she was being prepared for a sensual assault of a different kind. “Now I know why you put the quilt on the-”

He pressed his face to her, inhaling the scent, and taking his tongue, drew it from the top of her labia, up to her clit, delving into that delightful heat and continuing to a place no man had ever put his mouth, much less his tongue before.

“- ta-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!”

**_~~~***~~~_ **

The sky was turning dark; yet another rain shower obviously on the way. The last thing Guy's friend wanted to be was standing out in the rain when he could be holed up in front of a warm fireplace with a hot honey mead and a woman's fine cooking in front of him and her buxom self on his lap.

Timmy's mother would probably welcome him. She had an obstinate streak, but settled down quickly to a firm voice. Sir Rodrick was not one to abuse a woman or a child and he found if he pitched his voice just right, they fell in line quickly enough. “Aye dew believe,” Sir Rodrick took Joffrey's arm and pulled him forward, towards the pond and away from the manor, just as Genevieve's voice rose again on the air, “tha' oura time be through 'ere an' Sir Guy an' his lady no be needin' their doors guarded any longar.” Several young boys, who were throwing rocks in the pond stopped, those in earshot, staring at the home. 

“What wuz tha'?” 

Sir Rodrick bent over, lowering his voice, lest the little lads over-hear. “Tha' las' time aye 'eard tha' sound erupt frum a wo-man's throat, waz when aye licked her arse.”

He headed to the barn, leaving Joffrey standing in shock.

**_~~~***~~~_ **

In under a minute, rather than screaming with indignation, Genevieve was pressing into Guy's mouth, relaxing, actually enjoying the sensations of this highly erotic, if taboo, act. In fact, she had her head on the pillows and was cooing.

Cooing!

Which was something Guy found amusing and rather stimulating. He knew he would not last long once embedded and it would take every ounce of self-control he had not to pound into that delectable, but fragile flesh. After ensuring that she was completely relaxed and ready for him, he nipped her left cheek and pushing her forward, still on her knees, climbed up on the table behind her. “Have I hurt you or injured you in any way, my lady?” 

“No.” She was wet, so wet and sooo relaxed.

Quickly, he dipped three fingers into her anus, making sure that she was soft and completely unwound. The last thing he wanted was for her to get nervous and tighten up, halfway in. It would be best to roll her on her back and enter as if they were making love normally, but his shoulder was screaming and as much as he didn't want to rush, he needed to finish this. There was no way he could possibly lean or rest on it, much less brace his weight on it at all. His hand traced up her spine, caressing, until he reached her neck. Gently, he pressed her down, grasping her with his other hand, causing her derriere to rise higher. Pressing against her, he slid into the welcome, familiar heat that was Genevieve, that was his, “I want you to relax and do not move away.” She could imagine his smile. “I want you to enjoy this. Thoroughly.” 

“Yes sir.” 

He started to warn her, tell her she was wet, she was ready, but he could no longer put it off. Thrusting slowly several more times, ensuring he was well-coated and lubricated, he pulled out and repositioned, paying close attention to the way Genevieve shifted, and making sure he was at the right angle. 

She gave way, wet, willing, Guy slid in to a place well-prepared for him. Once in to the hilt, he stopped and took a breath. 

She tightened up.

“Do not squeeze.” Guy took another breath. “Am I hurting you?” 

“No.” It was obvious from the way Genevieve spoke, she was waiting for this to hurt and hurt a lot. “I need to go to the bathroom.” 

“I imagine you think you do.” 

“Think nothing. I need to go.” 

“Genevieve,” slowly, he began to move, relishing the heat, the tightness, glorying in the knowledge this was a first for her. Something she had never done. “What you are feeling is me.” 

“Oh.” Again, she shifted and repositioned herself, now moving with him, relaxing and allowing him to take the lead. Guy noticed she was gripping the edge of the table with white knuckles and the table was squeaking with their rocking. 

“Genevieve,” he turned loose of her neck and stroked down her right arm and picked up her vibrator. “Give me your hand.” Rather than taking a hold of it, he placed the butterfly in the palm. “You know what to do with this.” 

Genevieve peered at the controls, flipping them on, before reaching down with it. Rather than insert it, she used it to stimulate her outer folds. Within a few moments, she began to rock, Guy not having to do any work at all.

Truth be, it was probably better for her this way, he thought. So long as she did all the moving, she was somewhat in control and for now, that suited him just fine.

She was beginning to squeak. _Why does the woman swear like the men on the wharfs when she reaches pleasure?_ He grabbed her hips with both hands, trying to steady himself, before stroking up her back, fingers tracing her spine. He allowed the sounds, the movement she made, to take him off, take him away, to the point when she collapsed beneath him, he himself was nothing more than wrung-out, drained, and exhausted. When it was over, he lowered himself to her side, nuzzling her neck. 

She mumbled.

“What are you saying?” he whispered back. 

“I said,” she began slowly, “you are not kissing me with that mouth until you've washed it out.” 

His upper lip curled, chuckling bubbling in his chest. “You, my beloved wife, are a prude.” Genevieve snorted in response. “Admit it. You enjoyed it.” He slung his left arm over her, his thumb and fingers stroking her chin and throat.

She caught it and kissed his palm. “Yes, I did. But you are still not kissing me with that mouth.” She waited until both of their hearts slowed down before turning him loose and rolling over, off the table. “In fact, I need to go to the toilet and then,” she moved gingerly towards the stairs, “I'm going to take a bath. You are welcome to join me.” 

“After I wash out my mouth?” 

“Yes.” She was now moving slowly towards the upper floor. “After you wash your mouth.” And with that, she ascended the steps. “Ew. Ew. Ew.” 

Guy was flat on his back, his ankles hanging over the edge of the table, his arm, slung over his eyes. “Why are you making that sound?” 

“I'm squishy and leaking. Ew. Ew.” She didn't stop moving up the stairs. “I'm going to be wiping for a month! Ew.” 

Guy burst out laughing. He rolled over on his right side, opening his eyes to see Genevieve scowling and head to their room. 

His laughter stopped when he caught a glimpse of the bruising on her left arm.

_**~~~***~~~**   
_

They bathed together in that late morning aftermath, each washing the other, bodies, hair. While she was ensconced in his arms, his lap, he praised her, her courage to try something new that frightened her. After crawling out of the tub, Guy took great pleasure in sitting Genevieve in front of the fireplace and brushing her hair dry. There wasn't a lot, but it was enough for him to glory in.

The bruise on her arm didn't fade. At times, it seemed to be more intense, but it would lighten, although not completely. Genevieve didn't seem to notice it and Guy didn't mention it. Perhaps, within a few hours...

It was raining, the breeze nippy. The fireplace was roaring, taking the chill from the room. The two had eaten again; cold meat and cheese from their wedding feast and were now curled up in bed together, in a blissful state of not-asleep-but-not-awake. Finally, the two were getting that long desired rainy day in bed with no interruptions. 

And they were sleeping. 

“Guy?” 

“Hmmm?” 

Genevieve was curled into his right side, his arm wrapped around her, holding her close. Had he opened his eyes and looked down, all he would have seen was tousled hair. “Last night... when you wanted to watch me?” 

“Hmmm mmmm?” 

“Why?” 

The man's eyes shot open, the question disturbing to him. “Why? Why wot?” Maybe he misunderstood, maybe he missed something.

“Why did you want to watch me last night?” 

Rather than look at her, he searched the drape of the bed curtains. Finally, he leaned over and kissed the top of her head. “Time is not a commodity we have. I want to know what you enjoy now, not spend what little time we have trying to completely figure it out.” Realizing that the last thing either one of them wanted, was to be reminded their time was limited, he rumbled on, “There is the erotic satisfaction of watching you pleasure yourself. It-” here, he struggled for the right word, “-concerned me, that after all the time we have spent together, you still do not concentrate on your own gratification, even after I told you to bring yourself to it. I wanted to watch your face, your fingers, all of you, in rapture, and yet, you deny yourself! You deny me the right to watch it, watch you in the throes of it!” He didn't see the alarm on Genevieve's face, his agitation at what she always perceived as her problem. “What is it with you? Do you not realize your satisfaction is equally as important as mine?” Suddenly, he rolled on top of her, settling between her legs, his eyes black as night and his voice at a low, almost evil hiss. “I wanted to watch you so I could burn you into my memory. So that when you are stolen from me, like everything I have ever loved has been stolen from me, I could close my eyes and see you burned in the back of my eyelids, spread before me like a feast! That is why I wanted to watch you and that is why I wanted you sprawled on the table. I will never sit at that table again and not see you! I will never climb in this bed and not see you with your fingers in a place I adore! And lastly, I wanted to watch you touch yourself because when you are returned to your Alanna Jorja, and resume your life and take back your company, when you go home and touch yourself, I want you to close your eyes and see me at the bottom of your bed, watching you.” 

Genevieve stared at him, unblinking. The sound of the rain on the thatched roof was gentle, peaceful. Finally, she spoke. “Go to the foot of the bed.” 

Guy lifted on his right elbow and arm, tilting his head. “You say?” 

“I say. Go to the foot of the bed.” 

Guy pushed off her and went to the post, leaning back. Genevieve kicked the covers off the bed, leaning against the post. The light in the room was better than it had been in the evening and he watched as she piled all the pillows against her back. “You recall earlier this morning, when I told you you could not swear?” 

“And I did,” she leaned backwards and spread her legs, no hint of shyness, or shame, every inch of her exposed. “So, I suspect you will want to punish me.” Guy nodded. “That is fine. Punish me later. Right now, you stay there and do not interrupt me.” 

“Vous êtes le patron.”

The phrase was beyond Genevieve's rudimentary command of the language, so she ignored it and proceeded to please herself, dipping her fingers in both caverns, and after much work – and a lot of ignoring what That Man was doing to himself at the foot of the bed - managed to bring herself to peak twice, aware he watched, watched the arch of her back, the tendons of her muscles strain in her neck and chest. 

She made sure she swore. A lot.

After which, they slept. 

They woke up, snuggled some more, got up, listened to the sounds of children playing in the main, their voices and laughter, carrying through the cracked window. They then went downstairs and ate again, snickering and making bad, crude, earthy jokes. They returned to the master bedroom, closed the window and stoked the fire. 

True to his word, Guy did punish Genevieve that evening, late in the night, and in the gentlest, but most frustrating way possible. He did not bind her hands, rather rode her slow and sweetly, his mouth and tongue caressing her ear, her neck, at both breasts. He allowed her to tangle her fingers in his hair, touch him freely, a sensation that endeared her to him more. However, when she almost reached completion, he would pull out, not allowing her to climax. Twice, he rose to her torso, laying himself between her breasts. Grabbing her hands and placing them to her chest, she held both around him while he thrust until he –

_Lift your chin. Oh, that is a good girl…_

…spent himself, liberally coating her flesh from the cleft between her breasts to that sweet crevice in her throat. True to his threat, she was howling in frustration and he laughed evilly, wondering what cruel things the villagers were thinking he was doing to her. Only after he caught his wind after the second time did he journey down, her legs draped over his shoulders, to take that delicate flesh in his mouth, his long fingers reaching high, to tease and nip until she finally found that ultimate release. 

As she lay winded, exhausted from the exertion of his attention, he bathed her from the small wash basin on the table, making sure every drop, the very sheen of sweat and essence, was cleaned away from her body. It was not lost on her that despite his ominous, quiet threats, he did not get one drop on her face, which she hated so much. When all was cleaned, he blew out the candles and crawled into the bed, pulling her so close, she was literally under him, wrapped tight in a protective embrace that she often dreamed about while at Ripley's. 

As for Guy, for the first time in ages, he slept peacefully. He did not dream of Marian. Instead he dreamed of a pixie from hell, who tenderly dragged the backs of her fingers over the stubble on his chin and forgave him of every sin he had ever committed.

_**~~~***~~~** _

Sunday morning dawned sunny and they attended Mass at the little church in Locksley, a quiet gasp from the townspeople quickly hushed. Guy's countenance was ever stern, as it always was, but he held Genevieve's hand tenderly, as he led her to the front pew reserved for the Lord of Locksley. Father Thomas's sermon was on unconditional love and it was not lost on any of the parishioners that he addressed the Lord and Lady often. It was noticed upon often that Lady Gisborne smiled exceedingly and looked at her husband with pure joy; no trace of revulsion or fear, anywhere. Guy didn't think he'd get Genevieve back to the manor; everyone wanted to congratulate them again! His people - yes, his people - were happy and he found himself telling one well-wisher not to let the Sheriff know they were so ecstatically blissful. God knows, Vaisey would tax their delight!

That caused laughter! Not the malicious kind Guy was used to, but the kind that made him want to join in, be a part of. 

_Do not forget to take care of and defend those who live on your lands and live by your grace. They will respond to your loyalty to them. Marry for love._

_Well Father, at least I got the last part right._

He wondered if it was too late to defend the people who lived on his lands. They lived by his grace and will, not the sheriff's. Didn't his father run off the bailiff when he returned from the Holy Land? Sir Roger and Lord Malcombe both kept the man away until his father's illness was brought to light. 

They found baskets on the threshold of the doorway – fruit, fresh bread and cheese, a small, roasted ham. “I suppose they think we are tired of left-overs,” Genevieve whispered. Guy was nodding affirmatively, a small smile on his face.

The bruising on her arm remained, began to darken and spread. Neither Genevieve nor Guy mentioned it. 

Monday saw a return to some normalcy. Thornton, Fiona and Eleanor arrived that morning, the hall smelling of eggs and bacon. Rodrick showed up just as breakfast was served, along with Joffrey. The two men joined the newlyweds for breakfast, Rodrick informing them that Vaisey had again invited them to hawk with him. As he invited them Saturday, it was heavily suggested they go today, as the man was getting testy and Sir Rodrick's physician was ready to drug the man's wine. 

Guy told him to feel free. Please. And let him know what kind of drug he used and how well it worked, so he would remember it for future reference. 

The two did go hawking with the man that afternoon. Guy made sure he was bound up tight, simply along for the ride. If Vaisey thought to disgust Genevieve, he was very mistaken. Even Isabella was surprised at her new sister-in-law's cool demeanor when it came to the hunt and how quickly she took to it. 

When Guy questioned her about her level-headedness and lack of squemishness during the outing, that night in bed after they had made love, she told him it was similar to duck and squirrel hunting, which she had participated in often, before she left for college. Only instead of using hawks, she was used to using a rifle and a bird dog.

She then rolled over, complaining of stiffness in her side, and spooning against him, fell asleep.

As the fire died and Genevieve slept, Guy inspected her side, noting the bruising was not only worse on her arm and shoulder, but was now visible down her side and moving towards her hip as well. 

It made his heart seize.

_**~~~***~~~** _

By Wednesday, Genevieve's movements were slowed tremendously. Her entire left side was one long, flickering bruise, however, she either remained unaware or simply didn't acknowledge her stiffness. None of his servants mentioned it, nor did the house guards. Guy stayed awake all night, watching, praying.

He knew the time was coming sooner, than later and she needed to know, know things that were in that contract. 

What made it worse was a niggling, woman's voice sat in the back of his head. _'This is the most unselfish thing you have ever done, child. The Almighty is pleased. There is hope for you. For both of you.'_

Hope? Hope was a child's wish, something that never came true. He knew all about hope and what a thief it truly was. 

Wednesday dawned sunny, yet again, Mother Nature teasing those who worked the land. The small hamlet was laying in for winter, wood piles stocked, preserved vegetables and fruits, inventoried and accounted for. During the faire, many of the villagers' women had bought material; sheep wool had been spun, cloth created and warmer clothes made, leather cut for boots. Guy had ignored this ritual for years, finally now paying attention. He ordered Joffrey and Michael to go into Clun, the other villages, and especially that of his childhood home to make sure everyone had enough.

Genevieve came down the stairs that morning, only to catch her husband with his head bent over with Thornton and Fiona, Eleanor there as well, giggling as only a teen girl could. Breakfast was rushed, hurried, and Genevieve found herself dressed in the black velvet dress, with the gold trim and yellow lining, her cream cloak fastened and Zeus saddled and waiting for her in the barn. Eleanor insisted she wear the black jet jewelry along with her crucifix and no underclothes, whatsoever! It was almost scandalous! Guy's charger - Deujtrenda – was also saddled, with packed saddlebags along with his sword. With no one in the stable, Guy helped her mount, arranging her skirts and cloak about the roll tied behind on Zeus's rump, before climbing on his own horse. Going first, he nudged the stable gate open, the two of them heading out, with several young village boys running to close the gate and then attempt to run alongside, keeping up with the master and his lady, before they left the village and went into the woods. 

“Where are we going, Guy?” 

“A ride.” 

“Guy!” Genevieve pulled up next to him and the twosome settled into a paired, rhythmic walk. “Please tell me we aren't going hawking with Vaisey again!”

Guy looked straight ahead. “I thought you handled the sport very well.”

“It wasn't the sport; it was the company!” Genevieve was now taking in the scenery. “That man makes more snide, crass remarks than is fit for mixed company!” 

She missed Guy's smirk. “We are not going hawking with Vaisey. We are not doing anything with Vaisey today.”   
_  
Or most likely tomorrow or the next day or forever._

“So where are we going?” 

“Out to be seen.” 

“To be...Guy! The villagers here know who I am. So do those in Clun!”

“Today, I am showing off my wife. Not my mistress, not my arm-ornament. My beloved, honored wife.” He gave her a smile that she was aware did not reach his eyes. “I wish to show you all that I govern, all that is beneath my hand. All that you are chatelaine of, mistress of.” 

They spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon touring the shire, the small towns in his domain. Few words were spoken, save congratulations, children offering flowers to Genevieve; mostly hastily picked dandelions and cattails. It seemed that once people realized that Genevieve was truly happy and Guy wasn't there to mete out punishment or retribution, backs weren't so stiff and began to relax. Genevieve made inquiries to health, food, stable animals, Guy seeing first hand yet again, the side of this woman who demurred and bowed to him in the bedroom, yet sat tall and took charge in public, dispensing kindness. He saw that inner strength, compassion, the ability to see need and make quick plans to meet those needs of people he hadn't thought about in years and saw how important what she was doing, was. 

Which was why he was going to do, what he was going to do. Damn his desires and wants. 

After going through the place he called home when he was young and still appalled by the poverty there, Guy stopped in a familiar part of the woods, looking closely at the ground, the trees. With a nod for her to follow him, he veered from the well-worn path and into the woods. Genevieve followed happily, knowing where he was taking her. 

Soon, they found themselves in that familiar glade. There weren't many leaves left on the trees, but the sound of the waterfall was sweet music, the smell of the air, clean and crisp. Beams of light from the sun, lit up the dell, sunbeams and blue butterflies dancing on the water. Both dismounted, tying loose reins just enough to stay out of their way. 

The roll behind Genevieve's saddle consisted of two thick quilts, Guy finding a dry area beneath a large oak. The two spread them out, before Guy opened his saddlebags and extracted wine skins, linen napkins tied with freshly made rolls, honey, and butter, cheese, cold sliced roast, and sweet sticky buns. Genevieve sat in Guy's lap, her skirts spread prettily over and around them, while they fed each other amidst much disgusting snickering. Somewhere in the feeding and silly small talk he normally abhorred and stuttered over, Guy told her that his horse's name was very Olde English for 'BlueBalls'. Apparently, when the charger was being saddle broke, he kicked his trainer rather smartly and the oath stuck. Eventually, they degenerated to licking each others' fingers, Guy moving on to Genevieve's neck. Guy's trousers found themselves unlaced, pulled down enough, Genevieve riding at her leisure – which truth be told, was a very leisurely pace – and her dress loosened and pulled down to her elbows, Guy's nose buried in her cleavage and her arms wrapped about his head. 

The only sound in the air was their sighs and the tinkle of the water. 

Much later, when things were pulled up, not fastened, but just loose, Genevieve put her hands around her husband's face, forcing him to look up at her. “What's wrong?” she whispered. 

“What makes you think something is wrong?” 

“Your smile does not reach your eyes and you're holding yourself away from me.” 

Guy swallowed hard. _Oh beautiful, astute woman, you see much what many do not realize._ He gently caressed her left side. “I am worried for you. Your left side has been bruised and has pained you since Sunday.” 

Genevieve shrugged, mindful that her husband was deeply troubled. “We've been swinging from rafters, wild crazy sex. I'm sure I banged my side somewhere.” 

“No.” He shook his head. “True, we have been rambunctious, but not,” with this, he pulled her sleeve down, showing the purple marks. Never had they been so prominent, so obvious. “Not enough to cause this.” Guy rolled his lips and bit them between his teeth. “I have watched you take your Tye-le-nol frequently. You have also had much willow bark tea.” 

Genevieve bent over, kissing, breathing in his ear, something that made him curl into her. “What do you think it is, then?” 

It was becoming harder and harder to speak. “I think your angels are telling us our time is coming to an end.” His arms slid around her, pulling her close, holding her tightly against him. “I think they are preparing us for it.”

The ensuing kiss was urgent, desperate, ongoing until both needed air. Their grips were so tight, both had white knuckles. “How long do you think we have, Guy?” 

Guy wasn't looking at her, instead concentrating on her now exposed thigh, the bruised marbling of it both beautiful and terrifying. “Days? Hours?” He swallowed hard, shoring up his resolve, his determination. He squeezed her leg, gently. “There are several things you need to know before... before...” his voice trailed off. Still not looking at her, he leaned to the left, with sudden determination, pulling the saddlebag to him. He flipped the unbuckled flap opened. “I have kept something from you and I wish to confess it and pray you do not hate me.” He waved his hand, effectively keeping her from interrupting. “When you we healing from Hood's arrow, I sat watch over you for some days.” 

“I know.” 

“No.” Now he looked up, his hand down in the leather satchel. “You do not know. I took your... iPad and I finished the...” he pulled out several neatly folded sheets of paper. Genevieve gasped as she recognized them as the sheets removed from her notebook. “I finished the... the...” 

“You've transcribed the entire thing.” 

“Aye.” He nodded. “Please do not hate me for saying nothing. Much of the last part, I do not understand.” 

She reached for the pages, slightly upset when he extended his arm beyond her reach. “I kept this from you, so you would stay longer. I am selfish, I know, and do not apologize for it. Now that it is obvious they will steal you regardless, I cannot in good conscience withhold this from you.” With an angry grit she recalled from their early days, he stumbled on. “It says you will pay insurance costs.”

“They can forget it,” she shrugged. “I'm not selling.” 

Guy continued on, ignoring her. “What is 'liquidate'?” 

This brought her up sharply. “Liquidate?” 

Guy began to flip through the pages, finding, going through his notes. “Liquidate. It is the next to last stipulation.” 

“It means to sell everything.” Her breath caught. “Sell everything to the desks and chairs for whatever they can get for it. They had no intention of buying me out! They intend to shut me down!” Guy felt her fury, not only in her voice, but in her body. “I'm not selling! They can't-”

“They own enough of your stock to force you out.” 

The only sound now was the birdsong. “What?” 

Guy swallowed hard and repeated it. “According to the final stipulation, they own enough of your company to force you out. You will... capitulate... or they will force you out, close and liquidate your company and your employees get nothing.”

“No separation packages, no insurance, no job-”

“And your employees' retirements will be absorbed in the costs of liquidating the company.” 

“My choice is to leave them destitute or allow them to give me enough money to care for them for six months and leave me destitute.” It was whispered, Guy barely hearing it. “Why?” 

“I do not know.” 

Genevieve didn't hear him. “What did I do? Who did I piss off? Why would...” her voice trailed off. “You've known this for how long?” Finally, her ire was directed at him. “You've kept this from me?” 

“Genevieve,” Guy was cajoling, tender-

_Pleading._

“The longer you did not know, the longer that it was undone, the longer you would be allowed to stay.” He dropped the paper and grabbed her hands. “They cannot steal it from you as long as you are here! Beg them to allow you to stay! We will figure this out, find a way, if they let you stay.”

“Guy,” both of her hands cupped his face. “Time has not stood still-”

“Être avec moi. Rester à mes côtés.”

“I wish I could. I want to.” She dropped her head on his shoulder. “According to Val, I'm unconscious and I will wake up. The more I know, the better. She has given me hope that I can fight this, but I have to fight it there. I can't fight it here! I am responsible to my employees! I'm the only one standing between them and Ficklebutte!” 

_Just as I am responsible for my people. Only I stand between them and Vaisey, them and John. Father, I have failed them. Oh, that I had your strength._

Guy hugged her close, taking time to spread her skirts about them again and pull her cloak tight. The wind was chill, cold, the sun becoming lower in the sky. As he looked over the pond, he marveled at the butterflies and dragonflies hovering over the water, iridescent wings sparkling. 

_Strange, such creatures would be still alive, this late in the year. I cannot recall ever seeing them during autumn..._

Guy's jaw clenched, anger at the unfairness of all of it washing over him. “Listen to me. If you must leave me, you must fight him. When you beat Ficklebutte and save your company, you will kick... you will kick his arse,” Genevieve began to giggle at his use of profanity, “into hell. As your husband, I am telling you to do this.” She was nodding against him. “And when it is over and calm, find me and tell me. My spirit will wait for you.” 

“I will.” Guy grimaced. She was crying. “I will. But you must promise me when I'm gone and returned, you will live your life to the fullest.” She jerked up to look at him, eyes red and swollen. Cupping her face, he began to thumb the tears from her cheeks. “Promise me you will become a better man, like Marian knew you were. Like I know you are. But kill Vaisey first.” she admonished him with a raised finger, “and then become a better man. Do it for her. Do it for me.” 

“John will have my head, Genevieve.” _Nottingham will suffer. My people will suffer for it. They have suffered enough. And at my hand._

“Well then,” she continued, playing with the ties on his poet's shirt and concentrating on the strings, “figure out a way to do it. And then take everything you can to make life better for these people and then leave this wretched place. Go to France, raise grapes, become a fat drunkard. Do it for me.” 

He kissed her then and whispered into her mouth. “What do you know, Genevieve? What happens to England after this?” He watched her breathe before continuing. “Does Richard come back and behead us all?” 

She shook her head. “I... Richard will never return to England. And I know for fact someday, John will be king.” 

“Will he be a good king?” 

She shrugged, still fixated on the laces about his neck. “All I remember about John being King is the nobles forced him to sign the Magna Carta, which made him give up some of his power to them.” 

_Sounds like the Black Brotherhood came to power and Vaisey won. On second thought, France might be a good idea._

He jerked from his musing, recognizing that she had loosened his shirt and now had her hands behind her neck. She unclasped her crucifix and began to fasten it around his. The metal was cool to the touch, as she pressed it to him.

“Genevieve-”

“Now, you listen to me,” she began shakily. “You wear this. It's yours now. It's mine to give and I'm giving it to you. Keep it on and think of me. Remember us. When it... hurts...” her voice wandered off, her fingertips feeling the steady pulse of his heart beneath them. “When I'm gone, marry someone who makes you happy. I will hate her because she has you in her arms. I will love her because she makes you happy.” She wasn't looking at him, instead focusing on the cross now around his neck.

“Genevieve, that is a beautiful-”

“NO, IT ISN'T! I read it in a book a while back. The Wheel of Time! Honestly, I'm selfish as shit but I don't want you alone. I don't want you... facing... I don't want you to be alone.” She threw herself against him, her face in his chest. “You drink like a sot and I'm afraid you'll drink yourself to death. I don't want you alone and I don't want you to die like that.” 

And with that, she went quiet. He held her, they held each other, waiting.

Waiting. 

Slowly, the birds began to sing again. 

“Tell me, Genevieve.” It was a whisper, Guy's chin on her head. “Tell me of England. What happens to us? Tell me of England's greatest monarch.” _Talk to me, keep talking to me, so I will remember the sound of your voice._

Genevieve was plucking at his shirt, rubbing the fine lawn between her fingers. “My memory is pretty faulty. Besides what I told you about Richard and John, the only thing I remember about England's history...well... Henry VIII.”

“There will be eight Henry's? So far, there has only been two.” He leaned back to look at her. “He was a great king?” 

Genevieve sat up a bit, her face screwed up as she tried to recall. “No, he wasn't a great king, I don't think. He had six wives, so he's... well... the most well known king. And he was father to England's greatest monarch!” She tapped her lip. “I think.”   
,  
“Six wives?” Guy was incredulous. “What did he do to them? Murder them?” 

“Well.. uhm... yeah, he did, pretty much.” Guy was staring at her as if she were a wretched beast. “Well, basically, he wanted a son, because, you... well... succession. His first wife, they only had a girl, Mary. He wanted to set her aside after twenty or so years, marry someone younger, annul the marriage. But she refused to be set aside. The Pope would not annul the marriage, so Henry divorced her anyway, disinherited Mary and married his second wife, Anne Boleyn.” 

“I do not see The Church allowing that.” 

“Oh, they didn't.” Genevieve was now sitting back on her knees, two fingers up. “They excommunicated him, as well as England, I think. So it seems he started his own church, which he was the head of.” 

Guy banged his head against the tree, his eyes rolling. “What is it with our kings?” 

“Obviously,” Genevieve smiled humorously, “it appears they have God Complexes. And the worst of it was he confiscated the Catholic Church's property, the relics, their valubles. Anyway, Anne only gave birth to a girl as well. Elizabeth. So he decided to set her aside, except he really couldn't because of the mess he caused with the first one, so he accused her of treason or adultery and had her beheaded. Then he married Jane Someone-or-other. She had a boy, but she died. He couldn't stand his fourth wife, so he annulled that marriage immediately. His fifth wife was a sweet young thing but something happened, I forget, and she was beheaded-” Guy began to rub his throat. All this talk about beheading brought up strange... memories. “And then his sixth wife was really nothing more than a nurse for him. She outlived him.” She looked up with a grin. “I think his fourth wife was the luckiest of the lot, to be honest. She got a couple of castles, an allowance and was left alone to live her life.” 

“But,” Guy reminded her, “he had a son who was England's greatest monarch.” Genevieve shook her head negatively. “You said-” 

“I know what I said. Henry's son only lived and reigned a few months before he died. His daughter by his first marriage was put on the throne and she burned England.” Guy was staring at her. “She was a devout Roman-Catholic and she burned all the so-called heretics who left the church when her father created his own. I watched a movie once about her. They called her 'Bloody Mary'. It said that England stank of burnt flesh for ages.” 

“How on earth could this creature be England's greatest monarch?” 

Genevieve was grinning. “She wasn't. When she died, her half-sister, Elizabeth became Queen. She was probably England's greatest monarch.” She leaned back on Guy's thighs, grimacing where her calves had gone to sleep. “Henry would roll over in his grave if he knew that. All the hell he raised trying to secure his reign for a male heir and in the end, his greatest legacy was the daughter he treated the worst, although I don't think he treated Mary well either.” 

“Children? Surely, she married-” His gut sank at Genevieve's negative nod.

“Her cousin, James, who was also King of Scotland – the country north of you?” Guy's eyes were rolling, disgust clearly on his face, “became king. The only thing I remember about him was he was Protestant and he ordered the Bible to be translated into English, so everyone could read it.” 

Guy's eyes were closed. “Sweet Jesu,” he whispered, “All of this and we still go to hell in a handbasket.” He inhaled, deeply, clearing his mind. “And now?” The sun was low in the sky and Genevieve began to stuff things back in the satchels. 

“And now?” Genevieve stretched. “Most of the Free World lives under the dictates of either democracy or socialism. Most officials in government are voted in. The current Queen of England – Elizabeth II – is quite popular. Of course, she has no power. She's really sort of like a Good Will Ambassador. The – I think it's called – The Parliament – makes the laws.”

“And where you come from?” She didn't realize Guy was simply keeping her talking. Anything to keep her there. He lifted her skirt, only to drop it, the bruise up her entire left side completely black.

“The United States of America. Fifty mostly self-governing states, over seen by a President, which we elect every four years, along with a Congress and Senate, also elected in, according to the state they represent, and which are elected in and thirteen Supreme Court Justices. They write the law, sign the law, and try the law. And if we don't like who is sitting up there in the White House or the House of Representatives, we vote their asses out.” 

“Every one votes. Even your peasants?” 

“If you are age eighteen or older, you vote, regardless of your status. Personally, I think they're all a bunch of thieves. One group thinks we should let ourselves govern ourselves, the other thinks the government should be a playground monitor. Tell us what to think, who to play with, what to buy.” She looked up into the trees. “My grandmother wishes for simpler times. I don't think there were simpler times. Just... different.” She leaned back again. “I need to stand up. I'm stiff and sore and I think I've sat on your legs long enough.” Her smile was pained. “I imagine those glorious thighs are asleep.” She slid to the side, on the quilt, as Guy slowly stood up, his legs very tight and tingling from her sitting on them. 

“I am sure you are hurting.” 

“Not really. Mostly numb.” Genevieve reached up, smiling, before grimacing. “Actually, you're right. I am starting to feel achy and stiff. I think I see Tylenol in my future.” Guy reached down and grasped her arms, pulling her into his. The sun came through the branches just at that moment, lighting up her face, her smile, as she slowly stood up. Seeing the ground lit up under the branch and the water sparkling, she stepped back, her arms spread wide. “Come dance with me.” 

“I do not dance, m'lady.” He laced the front of his trousers, making sure he was tucked. 

There was music in the birdsong, in the rustle of the fallen leaves. “Yes, you do. There is no one to see us, but us and the butterflies!” She turned at that, her skirts and cloak billowing, beckoning, him to join her. 

Behind her, the butterflies and dragonflies rose up in a spinning whirlwind, becoming closer, the blue, increasingly intense, more dense...

With a wry smile and swallowing the lump in his throat, Guy stepped forward, his hand extended. Genevieve slipped her hand in his palm, his fingers tightening around them, pulling her forward. 

“Ah, Sir Guy of Gisborne, I love you so much.” 

“I love you, as well, Lady Gisborne.” His left arm went around her waist, the embrace, bolder.. The hand that held hers, pulled her into him, clasped her to him. Genevieve sighed and laid her head on his chest, before looking up to smile at him. 

One moment, she was solid, in his arms. 

The next, he was grasping nothing but sunlight.

_**~~~***~~~** _

_**By the way, I'm leaving out today** _

_**~~~***~~~** _

**  
__  
**

To be continued

_  
**Coquine**   
_ – naughty

 _ **Vous êtes le patron**_ – you are the boss

_**Note: Genevieve is NOT a historian. Her mistakes are hers and hers alone.** _

_**Wheel of Time quote – written by the late Robert Jordan** _


	36. 35 - ... or to return

_**Manna From Heaven** _

_**Chapter 35** _

_**Or to return...** _

_Beeeep... Uhm… hi… Genevieve…_

_Hellooooo my sexy man!_

_It’s Lamar. Look, I’m going to have to cancel our date tonight… this weekend. I... I had something…_

_What?_

_**~~~...~~~** _

A tall, dark-haired man stood on the corner of the inner city at rush hour, scrutinizing traffic, looking for something, someone. When he saw the car he was watching for come up to the intersection, he pulled out his cell phone and pressed two numbers, his thumb hovering over the third…

_**~~~...~~~** _

_…something has come up… yes Mother, I’m speaking to her now. No, I do not… look, Genevieve, I’m sorry, but we’re not working out. I need someone more … well… and you’re busy and we’re moving in different … yes Mother, can you just please… right now just isn’t our time. It’s not you, it’s me. We move in different circles. You’ve got a lot going on and we just have different things going on and it’s unfair to both of us. Maybe … I’m sorry, this is just hard… I’m sorry. I… have tickets for us for the Red Cross Ball in a few weeks, but I don’t think it would be in… your best interests to go with me, I’ll find someone… else…I’m sorry. Good luck with your new business venture. I know you’ll do well. Bye._

Click

_Whadafu-_

Suddenly, there was a squeal of brakes, a horn honking, a sharp jolt...

_What?…What?? Whose bed is this …where am I?_

Genevieve's car flew sideways, her phone sliding down between the seat and the gearshift case. For a moment, the car tipped sideways, balancing precariously on the passenger tires before slamming back down to the pavement. Her head hit her driver's side window, the skin behind her ear splitting open. Her iPad flew in the air before sliding between the seats and into the floorboard behind the passenger backseat. She was vaguely aware of a car grill ramming her vehicle in front of the driver's door, turning her 45 degrees to the left, now almost facing the oncoming traffic she had inadvertently pulled into. She was thrown into the opposing lane directly in front of traffic heading in the opposite direction. 

Her head jerked forward, the view the intersection seen through a cracked windshield, but the woman behind the steering wheel wasn't seeing any of it.

_Guy…Guy…Thornton…Eleanor…Joffrey…Locksley…Hood…bastard!…NONONONO…nosy horse...dammit…not my stock...the priest-_

Her front-end passenger side was rammed by a panel truck, knocking her back into the car who hit her to begin with, her front bumper curling inward. 

Her head whipped back. .  
 _  
Guy...Guy...Michael... Hood...my cross...the pond...clothes...kittens...kiss oh please kiss me again...the stock ... banana...the rent_

Her side impact bag deployed, slamming her backwards into the seat. The seat belt did its job, yanking her back away from the console and steering wheel.

There was a man on the corner was yelling into his cellphone, watching the scene, moving through the horrified spectators on the sidewalks…

_Isandra myback pain thewine Val banana Val Guy Sex ohGod Again Please my employees their jobs the child damn you Hood Tuck arrow skiiiiiiiieeessssssss arrrrrrrre bluuuuuueeeeeeeee Ripley's kittens Sex Love me please_

The car that initially slammed into her came to a halt, only to be rear-ended, making it hit her again, now between the back driver's door, to the trunk, spinning her almost another 90 degrees, so she was now facing the direction she came from. In the spinning, the passenger rear of her car hit the truck again, knocking her back yet into another car, head on, the front driver's tire entering the cab of the car, coming into direct contact with her left foot, and ankle. Her front air bag inflated.  
 _  
...thefaireguymarianisabellaclothesrodrickalricyesi'llmarryyouyesyesyesfairejoustvasieymygodmygodmygodhatefulplaceforgiveyouforgivememycompanyhoneysucklemyemployeesmarryyouguyguybananaguyworshipyouwithmybodyguyilove youguyguyguyguyguyguyguyguyguyguyguyguy..._

__  
Everything came to a halt.

_Guy?_

Smoke from the three automobiles, the truck, the deployed airbags, misted in the air, in the cabin of the car. There was the stench of burnt rubber...

The car alarm went off.

Her phone, which was wedged between the two front seats, was still plugged into her car stereo system.

_Genevieve, I’m sorry, but we’re not working out. I need someone more … well… and you’re busy... Genevieve, I’m sorry, but we’re not working out. I need someone more … well… and you’re busy... Genevieve, I’m sorry, but we’re not working out. I need someone more … well… and you’re busy..._

She was aware of searing pain all down her left side.

_Guy?_

And then it all went black.

_  
**~~~...~~~** _

_Floating..._  
 __  
Pain... oh God the pain...

_…and you’re busy... Genevieve, I’m sorry, but we’re not working out. I need someone more …_

"My Lady?" 

_Guy?_

“Guy?”

"Shhhh. I've got you. I've got you. Hold still. It will be okay. Do not move. I have called 911. I need you to stay still."

_Fading..._

_Floating..._

_…and you’re busy... Genevieve, I’m sorry, but we’re not working out. I need someone more …_

_Oh God it hurts._

A calloused hand was pressing on her forehead, holding her upright against the backrest of her seat. A distinct voice, one used to issuing orders and being in charge. "She needs to be immobilized. Has anyone checked on the passengers in the other car?"

_…and you’re busy... Genevieve, I’m sorry, but we’re not working out. I need someone more …_

“Guy?” She was crying, she could feel the tears running down her cheeks. “Guy? Banana. Please. Don't leave me. It hurts. Banana.”

_…and you’re busy... Genevieve, I’m sorry, but we’re not working out. I need someone more …_

"I am not going anywhere, m'lady. Help is coming."

“Banana. Banana.”

_Banana._

"I know, my lady."

Sirens. So far away, getting closer, getting louder...

_…and you’re busy... Genevieve, I’m sorry, but we’re not working out. I need someone more …_

"Ah, let's turn that miserable piece of shite off, shall we? Now where is it?" She was aware of someone yanking the cord and that wretched voice stopping. “There, that is much better.’

"Sir, we need access... you need to move’.

“NO! Don't leave me...”

_… fresh tears._

_Please don't leave me... banananaaa..._

“...nanana...”

"I'm not leaving.” There was the sound of breaking glass, metal screeching. “I'm getting in the back seat. I'm right here." 

_Please don't leave me!_

“Rester avec moi!”

"I am not leaving you, m’lady.”

_Air._  
 _  
Smoke._

_Guy?_

"I'm here. I am right here. I am right behind you. I've not left! See?”

“We're going to have to cut her out.” There was the sound of something rustling. More sirens.

“NO! My caaaaar... banana banana banana...”

That laugh, that... chuckle... "I will buy you another car, Lady Genevieve.”

Something, a blanket, was being pulled over her. Noise. Screeching noise. Metal ripping metal.  
 _  
Air. Searing Atlanta afternoon stench. Burnt rubber. Hot metal. Yelling, screaming, people talking._

_Sirens. More sirens._

“Come on, honey, come on, honey, stay with me…please beautiful… you’ve got a hot date tonight, I can see it.” 

Guy?

"I am here. I am not leaving. I've got you."

_Banana._

“Stay with me… please… please… damn, I need an IV, hand me the fib…stay with me stay with me stay with me stay with…”  
 _  
Banana. Guy?_

_Yes..._  
  
 _Floating…_

_**~~~...~~~** _

__  
Floating...

_Guy?_

"No chickie-poo. It's Val."

_Where's Guy?_

_Who? Guy? What guy?_

_Nooooooooooooooooo...._

_**~~~...~~~** _

_Floating..._

_Freezing..._

_Suddenly, there was a warmth, a cocoon of warmth and protection and love and..._

_Guy?_

_Yes m’lady. I am here._

_Butterflies along her brow..._  
  
 _Banana, Genevieve?_

_Yesyesyesyesbanana. Don't leave me._

_The embrace tightened._

_I am not going anywhere, m'lady. Sleep Genevieve._

_Something warm coursed through her veins. Pain fading..._

_Banana?_  
 _  
Sleep._

_Floating...  
_

_**~~~...~~~** _

_Floating..._

"Genevieve..."

_Grandma? Grandma?_

"I need you to wake up."

_Grandma?_

“Come now, honey. I need you to wake up."

_"Grandma?"_

"Sweetheart, it's been three days. We need you to wake up. I need you to wake up."

"Grandma?" 

_Fingers on my brow. Bright light bright light..._

"It's a glorious morning, beautiful girl. Let's sit you up so you can see it."

_**~~~...~~~** _

Genevieve spent the next two days ebbing in and out of consciousness. If she was awake, she hurt. They gave her pain killers and she either went to sleep or was so stoned out of her skull, she was useless. She dreamed of Guy, fading in and out of her dreams.

She was aware of her grandmother, nurses, including a huge, muscle-bound male nurse who strangely enough,reminded her of Michael the Red. He laughed the first time she called him that, croaking it out. "How'd y'know my name is Michael?"

"You just look like a Michael is all." Genevieve's voice sounded odd, the cadence clipped, not that relaxed Southern drawl she was used to. She supposed it was due to the soreness, tubes that had been down her throat. "Do you like archery?" 

He paused, looking at her over the computer where he was entering her vital signs for the umpteenth time. "What makes you think that?" 

"Intuition."

Her entire left side was one massive single bruise, from her neck to her ankles. She had a bruise across her chest and neck caused by her shoulder harness, a swollen lip from the airbag. A cracked collar bone, broken arm, cracked ribs, a broken leg, broken hip. Stitches just above and behind her left ear where she hit her window. She was tractioned, immobilized.

There was a puncture wound in her back right shoulder. Her grandmother told her they removed a shard of  
glass from it, most likely from her back window. 

Her room was filled with flowers. Roses, tulips, sunflowers. Mostly roses. Yellow roses.

Several days after Genevieve came out of her coma, she was napping, only to be awakened by raised, angry voices. 

“When she wakes up, she simply needs to sign this! There is no need to put it off.”  
 _  
Ficklebutte? What is Ficklebutte doing in my hospital room?_

“Have you no common decency? Humanity?” Grace Truth Robinson was tiny, but she was a firecracker. Certainly no shrinking violet.

The man scoffed. _Ooooh that's a big mistake, bucko. That's my grandma!_ “She really has no choice-”

“YOU!” Genevieve opened an eye to see her grandmother – who stood all of four foot eleven – up against the tall, rotund man. “You can leave, right now!” 

“Do you even know who I am?” 

“A pompass ass, is who you are!” 

“You're arguing with the wrong person, bucko!” 

Ficklebutte momentarily turned his head to the bed. “What did you say?” 

Before he could register that his prey was awake and speaking, he found himself backed against a wall,  
Genevieve's grandmother poking him in the sternum with her finger. “I can put a world of hurt on you, boy!” 

“An' trust me. She can do it.” Genevieve nodded, closing her eyes. 

“Ms. Robinson-” 

The door to the room flew open, Val coming in like a fresh breeze. “Grace, how is Gen... Oh. Mr. Ficklebutte. Good! Just the person I wanted to speak with.” She was carrying a folder under her arm, a vase of yellow baby  
bud roses in her hand. As she closed the door behind her, she handed the vase to Genevieve's grandmother and plling the folder from beneath her arm, she opened it, flipping through the pages. 

“Ms. Oelle. We are not altering the contract.”

“Perhaps not this minute, but Genevieve's attorney has obtained an injunction, keeping you from forcing the stockholders meeting before February seventh. That is the first Friday in February.” She held out a document with a sugary sweet smile. “I'm surprised your attorney didn't notify you.”

“What?” He grabbed the paper and began to peruse it. “This can't be.” 

Val pointed to the bottom. “Yes, it can. Look there,” she pointed, “Judge Abercrombie's signature, today's date from this morning and there,” she pointed again, “is the court notary, Ms. Finch, making it all nice and legal.” She winked at Genevieve. “Judge Abercrombie had a lot of things to say about you trying to pull a fast one while Ms. Robinson was in the hospital. None of it nice, I might add.” Her voice lowered in a conspiratorial whisper. “And trust me, you do NOT want know what Ms. Finch said!” 

Ficklebutte had his nose in paperwork. “Who is this?” He pointed to somewhere on the paper. “I thought George Stallop was her attorney.” 

Val's smile was pure saccharine. _Oh boy, is he in trouble! Val on one side, Grandma on the other..._ “Mr. Stallop's wife passed away last week after a rather long illness. His partner has taken over as counselor.” 

Genevieve clamped her mouth shut. Oh, she needed to chat with Val and get this hyena out of her hospital room! Genevieve's grandmother was growing agitated. Without thinking, she set the vase of roses in Genevieve's good hand.

Ficklebutte was staring hard at the paper. “G. Crispin FitzGi-”

“Yes. That is Genevieve's attorney.” 

“I'm not selling.” Genevieve croaked. “I don't know what you think you've got-”

“It's simple, Genevieve,” the architect spat matter-a-factually. He was as oily as ever. “I own more stock in your company than you do. More than you and your employees put together.” He tossed the injunction and the contract on the foot of the bed. “Save yourself some heartache and just accept the terms. That way, everyoneis happy. Well,” he smiled snidely, “most everyone.” 

“Get out.” Genevieve hissed. “And don't come back.”

“This,” he stabbed a finger at the injunction, “will only put off the inevitable.” 

Genevieve's grandmother had had enough. Grace Truth Robinson pulled herself up to her full four foot, eleven inch frame and started pushing the man towards the door. “Y'know whut? Ahm jist done with you, boy! You can just kiss my hairy, unwashed lily-white Rebel Ass!” The finger was back out and making a bruise in the man's chest. “You need to git out an' git out now!” She slung the door open and grabbed the first person she could find. “Nurse?” She caught the poor woman making the rounds. “Make sure this mahn does not come back and harass mah granddaughter!” 

The nurse was all professional. “Sir? You need to leave.” 

“I'll see you in February, Genevieve. Best sign it now.” With that, he turned and stalked down the corridor. 

“Do you need anything Miss Robinson?” The nurse was most definitely a sweetheart. “Pain pill? Something to drink?” 

“My Glock, if he comes back. And my 12-gauge shotgun.” 

“An' mah pump-action rifle!” Grace chimed in. “An' Ol' Bessie!” 

“That would be Grandma's sawed off.” 

The nurse turned white. “I'm sorry. Firearms aren't allowed in the hospital.” She dipped her head. “Anything?” 

Genevieve grimaced. “Yes, some pain medicine. And a Coke. Please.” She waited until the woman left, the door swing shut. “I have a new attorney? When?” She reached down to where the injunction lay, only to remember she had a vase of flowers in her hand. “Would someone please put these on the table? Who is this new attorney? How did this happen?” Once the vase was taken from her, she reached for the injunction, looking over it thoroughly.

Val pulled up a chair. “How are you feeling chickie-poo?”

“Like I got hit by a car and a truck!” Her shoulder fell. “Everything hurts. Everything on my left side is broken, I'd set off a metal detector, I've got so many pins and stitches behind my ear and in my shoulder. There's blood in my hair, I can't bathe and I have to pee and shit in a bedpan.”

_And there is no hot black knight to help me do anything!_

She started to cry. “They are talking about physical therapy and some douche-bag wants to steal my company from me and my boyfriend broke up with me and I don't even care because...” she was now hiccupping, “I dreamed and fell in love with a gorgeous medieval knight-”

“A knight in shining armor isn't a bad thing to dream about, chickie-poo.” 

“He _wasn't_ in shining armor! He wore black leather!” 

Grace was arranging the roses, the many vases in the window, the tables. “Do I need to hear about this?” 

Val shook her head. “George's wife has been ill for a long time and he's been looking for a partner to help out and eventually take over his practice. He came to agreement with one just before Anne died. George's secretary didn't know. She's been wanting to retire, so he's going to let her and his new partner took over on Monday after your wreck. Look, now that you are feeling better, I know he's going to want to touch base with you as soon as possible. He was like raining hellfire in court this morning to get this injunction to halt the takeover. At the very least, he's going to want to know that Ficklebutte was here and tried to coerce you into signing this!” 

“It is a take-over, isn't it?” 

“A hostile one.” 

Genevieve was still reading the injunction, shaking her head. “I'm not a big player; a big wig! I'm just a small firm. Why would anyone want to take me out?”

“You stepped on someone's toes somewhere, missy!” Grace spoke up. 

The women fell quiet as the nurse returned, administered a pain killer in Genevieve's IV drip and set a Coke on the tray. They waited until the nurse left. 

“”About my new attorney-”

“His name is Cris. He's single and gorgeous. Your grandmother,” she nodded to Grace, who was blushing, “is inlove!” She got up and went to closet, pulling out Genevieve's duffel bag. “Cris cleared out your car – it's a total,you know, and he's dealing with the insurance companies. At least, your only ticket is for running the red light.You were the only one injured. Your iPad is in here, everything is in here. I've charged the iPad and I'll bring your laptop if you want it, later.” Val then set it on the bed, between Genevieve's feet. “Your iPhone is destroyed, but I put what was left of it in here.” She patted her shoulder before standing up. “He said not to worry. If you don't want to sell, he's figuring out a way for you to keep it. Frankly, he said the contract is a piece of shit and under most circumstances, wouldn't even be considered serious in a kangaroo court.” 

“I want to know how Ficklebutte got so much of my stock to begin with. It was a private release, only meant for my employees.” 

Val's face fell. “That's what Cris said. Something happened somewhere. There was a leak or something. That man says he's got a handle on it.” She smiled, her face lighting up. “I'll get your iPad out and you can read. I'm sure Cris has emailed you by now and the two of you can get acquainted. He's got a dangerous demeanor, chickie-poo. After what I witnessed this morning, he's a right bastard in court! He had Ficklebutte's attorney in a corner!” 

“So, Ficklebutte knew about this injunction before you came?”

Val nodded. “I would think so. I came straight-away. I was afraid he'd try to railroad you before you knew about the injunction.”

The pain killer was starting to kick in. “I'm not selling.” 

“Then don't.” Val then smiled. “Either way, get some rest. I'll take your grandmother down for some lunch before I bring her back.”

“I'm not hungry!” 

“You are a curmudgeon and I see where Genevieve gets her spunk from!” Val steered Grace towards the door. “I believe there is a Wifi connection here. See if you can check your email.” She nodded over to Genevieve's grumbling grandmother. “We'll just be at the cafeteria.” With an unseen swiftness, the two women left the room.

Leaving it silent. 

Genevieve took several breaths, trying to come to grips with all she had been through in the past several days. But try as she might, her dream of Dark Ages Nottingham and Sir Guy were more real to her. Even through the haze of the pain killers, the morphine, her dream was more solid.

It was not lost on her no one mentioned Lamar, even with her whiny slip. With a great deal of difficulty, she pushed the tray aside and tried to reach for her duffel bag, which was just out of reach. She was grunting in pain when the door opened. 

A nurse's aide – she was much too old to be a candy striper – peeked around the door. “I have balloons and flowers and candy for a Miss Genevieve Robinson. Oh honey, let me help you with that.” She came in, blue hair obviously just done that morning. She pulled behind her a cart loaded with flowers; roses, tulips, daisies, all of them yellow. As the door drifted shut, the woman picked up Genevieve's bag and set it on the rolling tray. “Here you go!” She unzipped it and opened it wide. “Is there anything in particular you'd like? You're rather at a disadvantage with only one arm, sweetheart.” 

Genevieve was barely listening. She was busy staring at the woman and her name badge. 

_'Anael'_

“Do you believe in angels?” 

“Ah, sugarplum, when you reach my age, you believe in most anything. Or you don't.” She smiled and pointed. “Anything in particular?” 

“No, I'll look through it.” 

The woman looked at her sadly. “Oh, let me help with your pillows and this bed.” She began to fluff and restack, raising the bed a bit. “There. That's much better.” She stood back, hands folded in front of her, as if waiting for orders. 

It made Genevieve uncomfortable. “If you want to leave which ever one is mine-”

“They're all yours, sweetheart.” 

“What?” 

The woman began to unload the cart, putting the flowers on the window ledge, the night stand, the ledge/desk at the foot of the bed. If there was room, space, she set them there. There were flowers, balloons, stuffed animals. The teddy bears and what-nots somehow made their way into her bed. Genevieve was completely overwhelmed. 

“Do you want me to bring you the cards, read them to you?” 

Genevieve was shaking her head. “No. My grandmother will be back in an hour or so and she and I will go through them together if I'm awake.” 

“All righty then.” She placed them between the wall and a vase of flowers before grabbing the cart and turned towards the door. “You are truly loved, precious. Is there anything else you need?” 

“Anael?” The woman looked over her shoulder. “I remember you. Was it a delusion? A fantasy? Did he really exist? Or was it a wild dream?” 

It was quiet for a while, while the angel studied her closely. “Look through your things, Genevieve Faith. You'll find your answers.” And with that, she disappeared through the door. 

Genevieve wasted no time. Her pain killer was making her lethargic and she wanted to get her iPad out before it got worse. She pulled her gym clothes, jeans, and tunic out first. She attempted to toss them over to the chair (wadding with one hand was impossible) and missed beautifully and they ended up all over the floor. She found her butterfly vibe and handcuffs and pushed them to the side. Her grandmother was amazingly open-minded, but Genevieve didn't want to rub it in her face. She found her make-up bag, other things before finding the iPad and placing it in her lap. 

Further digging found the remnants of her iPhone. As Val stated, it was destroyed, but as Genevieve picked it up to inspect it, her stomach - 

_Look through your things, Genevieve Faith. You'll find your answers._

The outer casing was in pieces, while the main part was somewhat intact. It was bowed in the middle, looked as if something had been rammed through it. Something sharp and large. 

_Like a broadsword._

Genevieve dropped it in her lap, unable to breath. With a renewed sense of urgency, she began to pull things from her duffel bag, looking... looking...

_Where is it... where is it... my crucifix..._

She pulled everything out. Nothing. One piece at a time, she began to replace, inspecting everything, the adult toys going back in first. Every bag, anything that could be opened, she opened, before replacing it. The Tylenol, the Q tips. It was not lost on her that there were dried traces of blood on the tips of her tweezers. Everything was replaced except the iPad, her sketchpad, and her make up bag. 

With some difficulty, she opened it, dumping the contents in her lap and immediately saw the plastic baggie, mixed in with her make up. 

A plastic bag of jewelry. She could see immediately that her crucifix was not in it. 

But the betrothal ring and ruby wedding band that Guy gave her and married her at Ripley's was. 

As was his wolf-head signet ring.

_**~~~...~~~** _

It took the better part of half an hour for Genevieve to pull herself together. In an attempt to resituate herself, she went through her iPad, the folder with the contract that was with her things, found the notes she made, he made while... there...

_All of it. All of it was true. Everything she and Guy had discovered and discussed. True. Even his smarmy little notation – Wot is 'stock'?_

_It wasn't a dream. Wait, on second thought, it was a dream and now she was in the middle of a nightmare._

Genevieve's grandmother sat next to her between lunch and dinner, reading every get well card and floral arrangement card that had arrived. Her friends, her employees, pictures their children drew for her, which Genevieve made her hang up on the walls around the room. What she remembered as dark and gloomy upon her awakening, now became cheery and bright, the blinds in the window opened. October sunshine reflected on the bright yellow of the flowers all over the room. All of the stuffed animals at the foot of her bed had names, notes. And chocolate. So much chocolate. She picked one random box from the stockpile and had Val take the toys and candy (sans cards and notes) to the children's wing and told her to give them to the children that had the least. 

The flowers made the room smell like a garden, quite a few again from friends, employees, colleagues. Old roommates. There was even bright geraniums from George, her attorney.

But there wasn't anything from Lamar. Or The Gator. 

“What happened, Genevieve?” Grace was going through everything. “There's nothin' here from that boyfriend of yours. He hasn't even called, much less come by to check on you! After two... three years...”

“He broke up with me,” Genevieve's throat was scratchy, hurting. “He called my cellphone while I was working out and left me a Dear John message.” Genevieve's iPad was still in her lap; the rest of the contents, with the exception of the sketch pad and dropped clothing, placed back in her gym bag. Val had picked those up and replaced them before she headed back to the office.

“He did what?” 

Genevieve hung her head. “That's what I was listening to when I ran the red light. He broke up with me. Told me I wasn't what he needed.” She didn't tell her the horrible things Lamar's mother was saying that was overheard on the iPhone. “He didn't say it in those words, but he implied it. I was distracted.” 

Cool fingers lifted her chin. The light in the woman's eyes, which was the earliest memory Genevieve had, was very apparent. “Well, good riddance. He's a coward! He wasn't good enough for you, anyway, my beautiful girl. He is self-absorbed and selfish and his mother is a right nasty beast!” This caused Genevieve to laugh, making her ribs hurt. Grace met the twosome the first Christmas Genevieve and Lamar were dating. It was strained, an uncomfortable Christmas Eve dinner and Lamar's mother embarrassed Genevieve greatly, treating her grandmother like a piece of trash. “I've been prayin' you'd find someone else, someone who worships the ground y'walk on, someone who thinks you're all that an' a bag of chips!” She clasped Genevieve's good hand and pulled it to her cheek. “Y'need a man who will ground you, but still allow you to soar; someone who will take care of the details of life, while you're free to search the stars. He's out there, y'know. He's waitin' for you.” She leaned back and snorted. “Y'know, you kept cryin' for a guy when you slept. I was hopin' you'd met someone else.” She stood up and began to pick up the vases one at time. “I was hopin' the man who sent you all these flowers was him!” 

“One man sent these?” Genevieve sat up. “All of them?” 

“Mostly. Yellow. All of them yellow. I wonder what the significance of that is?” She grinned evilly. “Y'have an admirer, beautiful girl! She plucked the card from the first one. “Get well. Cris.” She went to the next one. “Feel better soon. Cris FitzG.”

Every single card, every single bouquet of yellow flowers, was from her attorney. 

Her attorney that she hadn't met.

“Huh. This one is strange.” Grace squinted at the card. 

“What?” 

“It says, 'Être forte' an' something else. It isn't signed, but I'll bet it's from him.”

“Let me see.” Genevieve reached for it. Grace handed her the card. 

_Être forte. Je suis là._

Genevieve concentrated on the card, the French. “Être forte. Be... be... forte... strong. Je ...I...suis là... am here. Be strong. I am here.” 

“Strange thing for an attorney to write on a get well note.” Grace looked at the over-flow of flowers. “Strange that your lawyer should send you so many flowers. He arranged a car to bring me down from the farm and he's put me up in the Wyndham around the corner. Told me not to worry about it.” 

“He's paying for it?” Grace nodded. “Yes. It is strange.” 

They spent the afternoon talking, planning for when she was released from the hospital. She would need help, a car, there was a lot of physical therapy in her future. An attendant came in with dinner, roast beef and vegetables. After dinner, Genevieve was helped into the bathroom, where she quietly praised and thanked God for flushing toilets, and then was given a sponge bath, her hair brushed and cleaned with dry shampoo. It wasn't a shower or a long, hot soak in a tub, but it was an improvement. 

_Guy would laugh at me, if he saw me..._

They had settled her back in the bed, aching, hurting. “Grandma? Where are the clothes I was wearing?” 

“They cut them off you, sweetheart.” Genevieve's heart clutched at the thought of the dress, her stockings, the emergency room people seeing her naughty little thong and stockings. “There was really no other way to get them off.” 

Genevieve nodded. “I can't find my crucifix with my things. Maybe it fell off in the car. I guess I'll ask Val to go look.” 

“Crucifix?” Grace was nosing over the new flower arrangements, sniffing the roses. “What crucifix?” 

Genevieve's eyes came up in a lurch. “The one you gave me. The one your mother gave you.” 

Her grandmother never looked up. “I've never had a cross. Never was wealthy enough for a nice piece of jewelry except the wedding band your grandfather gave me when we wed.” Now she looked up. “You took a pretty hard knock on the head, Genevieve.” 

Somewhere... her crucifix was somewhere. “Yeah, I guess I did.” She changed the subject. “Who's minding the farm and animals?” 

“Harvest is in, so's the only worry is feedin' and waterin'. Yer high school boyfriend an' his boys are takin' care o' things. Said take as long as I need.” Grace fell quiet.  
 _  
John. Of course, John would help out._ He'd been the sweetest boy. His father owned the horse farm that was next to her grandmother's. Genevieve adored him in high school and had happily given him her virginity the night of the junior prom. They had struggled trying to get the condom on right the first time and he had spilled before they could get it on, leaving him embarrassed and her struggling to reassure him. The rest of the night had been wonderful and she cherished the memory. He waited for her when she left for college, and was devastated, but supportive when she decided to stay in Atlanta and intern the summer at the firm who eventually hired her after college. He moved on and married within a year after her graduation and Genevieve always wished him happiness and luck. Last time she asked, he and his wife – Sharone? - were expecting their first baby.

“Y'know, Sharone left him last year. Just packed up and left him with both of those little boys. She couldn't stand country livin'.” She looked over her shoulder at her granddaughter. “The three of them went camping with the Boy Scouts and came home to her and her things gone. Personally, I think she just hated the smell of the horses. You want me to have him call? He's been mighty worried about you.”  
 _  
John. Sweet, sweet John who yes, would bend over backwards to help Grandma._

“No. I'll thank him later.” 

When Val came to pick up her grandmother, she brought Genevieve's laptop, along with an old-fashioned mouse and pad. While her iPad sufficed for most things, her laptop screen was much bigger and surfed faster. She spent the evening, propped up, with her leg no longer elevated. She scowled at her swollen toes, Grace promising to give her a pedicure with some ghastly awful color. 

So sitting in the bed, she turned on the computer, waiting for the Wifi signal to click in. As soon as she had one, she went to Google. 

_Sir Guy of Gisborne._

She hoped to find reference, anything; he killed Robin Hood, killed the sheriff, disappeared in France... 

Instead, the first thing to come up was a poem. 

_A sword and a dagger he wore by his side,_  
 _Of manye a man the bane;_  
 _And he was clad in his capull-hyde_  
 _Topp and tayll and mayne_

“What? Horsehide?” Genevieve shook her head. “Wearing the tail and mane? That's not my Guy.” She  
continued reading, became more and more saddened...  
 _  
Stabbed and killed by Hood. Beheaded, love triangle..._

Nothing. Nothing of the man she remembered, loved, still loved... just...

“That's not my Guy.” 

History had not remembered the man well at all.

Her next search was of the surname. Gisborne. Gisburne, Gisbourne... although the information was an  
improvement, it was still precious little.  
 _  
Like Robin Hood, Guy of Gisborne seems to be somewhat of a myth..._

_Original spelling, Olde English for 'rushing brook'..._

She recalled the pond and the stream that fed it and drained it, the sound of it. It was the last sound she  
heard before...

_Before..._

What happened to you when I left? What did you tell Eleanor? Thornton and Fiona? Our friends, Joffrey and Michael... did Vaisey crow? Did Robin really murder you and behead you? 

She almost threw up her dinner. 

Giving up for the evening, she opened her social sites, her facebook and her email. Her wall was overrun with well-wishes, daily up-dates posted from Val, _Oh nos, oh my God, prayers, healing thoughts.._.

Her email was equally appalling. She made a folder for 'after wreck' and anything that looked as if it fit the bill, she moved to it, leaving the mail from Val, George and several from a 'Cris FitzG.'...

Nothing from Lamar. Actually, she was glad. She was of a mind to delete anything from him, unread.

She opened Val's first. It was dated Sunday, after the wreck.  
 __  
If you're reading this, chickie-poo, then you're up and feeling better. George has partnered with a new attorney who is taking over your account. We have enough work to keep us busy through March. Your grandmother  
(who is delightfully crass, just like you, btw) is staying at the Wyndham, around the corner. She's in room 874, if you need her. The new attorney – Cris – had her brought down and put her up at the Wyndham and has arranged for someone to drive her where she needs to be. I think she's in love already with the man! 

_Oh, before I forget. I just checked Bradley into a rehab facility, at his request. When he heard about your wreck... well, let's just say yesterday was a day of coming to grips for him and he contacted me just before he did something stupid. I'm glad he called and he seems intent on kicking this weekend drug habit of his. I'm not inclined to fire him and I don't think you are either. He wants to get well!_

This was good, actually. Bradley was a Veteran, a former Marine with a bad case of PTSD. Genevieve and Val knew something was going on during the weekends; there were times he came in on Monday morning looking like something the cat dragged in. He was fighting depression, fighting demons. More than once Val or Genevieve had offered to help, offered to listen. Anything. He always smiled and thanked them. Finally, he was getting help! Making a mental note to send him a fruit flower basket and a book of dirty jokes, she filed the email in yet another new folder, (Wreck and sale) she then went to George's. It was dated on Monday.

_Genevieve,_

_I was horrified to hear of your accident. I'll be praying for a speedy recovery._

_I fear my secretary jumped the gun in telling you to find a new attorney. As you have guessed I am really in no place to oversee of the impending sale of your company and truly I feel I've fallen down on the job with this. I have joined with a new partner and considering everything, he is taking your sale pro bono. I read through the proposed contract along with Cris and I must say, I hope you tell Ficklebutte and Company to shove it up their ass. You might have difficulty with that however, but the new guy says if there is a loophole, he can find  
it. _

_Put your trust in him, Genevieve. His background is impeccable. Why an English Earl wants to be a southern lawyer is beyond me. I'll be in touch._

English? And an Earl? 

_Well, that's certainly posh!_

And no mention of George's wife. How difficult dealing with this on top of her death must be. 

Filing that one as well in the new folder, she decided to start with the new attorney from the beginning. 

He introduced himself, wrote of his dismay about her wreck, reassured her that her well-being was more important than this silly stupidity from Ficklebutte. He mentioned that this mess would be pro bono. George felt wretched about not contacting her sooner and that he felt that if she didn't want to sell, they could manage to rip the whole from Ficklebutte's grasp.

He gave her his office number to contact him and let her know that his email went to his cell phone, so feel free to contact him any time. In fact, it would probably be easier to text or email, considering his schedule.

She looked at the date. _Friday. It's been a week. Hot British lawyer is probably out on a hot date, but what the hell._

Typing with one hand was awful and it took time, but finally...

_Cris._

_Can I call you Cris. Crispin, FitzG or Mr. FitzG or Earl FitzG doesn't sound right. What should I call you?_  
 _  
I apologize. The drugs the hospital has me on are making me trippy. My office manager brought my laptop and I'm trying to catch up on email and things._

_Ficklebutte came to the hospital today and my grandmother had to have him forcibly removed. He seems to think he already owns my company and tried to railroad me even though he knew about the injunction, putting off the sale. I've read through the contract today and it's making me sick. I think we have a lot to discuss, at your convenience, of course. We have until February to get my firm out of this mess._

_I don't even want to think about the wreck and that can of worms. Everyone is probably going to sue me._

_By the way, thank you for all the flowers. My room looks like a garden. Smells like one too!_

She hit send and leaned back. She reduced the email, and turned on her Kindle application. After reading so many historical romances and then leaving the hottest dark knight ever back in Dark Ages, she wasn't in the mood. She opened the mystery folder and clicked on the first random unread book. 

Within two page turns, tears were running down her cheeks. She couldn't concentrate, couldn't read through the blur. 

_Guy? What happened to you? Please please please tell me you went to France and all shit I read was a lie. How do I find you? How do I talk to you? Tell me you lived long, tell me you loved again. I miss you. I need you here. Please talk to me. Please._

She realized the pinging sound she was hearing was her email. Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, she reopened the window and looked. 

It was the attorney. 

_Call me Cris. I am at your service. I leave the noble title back home on the Estate where my mother takes good care of it. I admit being overly fond of being called 'Sir' but not by just anyone._

_Right this moment, I have one, simple question. Do you wish to sell your company to Ficklebutte? To anyone?_

Genevieve one-handed fired back. 

_NO! NONONONONO! I have a copy of the contract and I've read it since he was here. It sucks moldy rocks. Can we find a way out? A loop hole? How do I stop this? How do I stop him? How on earth did he manage to obtain more stock in my company than I own? It was a private release! What do you need me to do?_

_Oh. Forgot. Thank you for taking care of my grandmother. You have no idea how much this has helped, having her here. She's all the family I have. As soon as I get a handle on things, I'll reimburse you for the cost of bringing her down and the hotel bill. Please keep track of it._

Again, she left the screen open, but reduced, while she went back to her book and tried to concentrate the young real estate mogul, trying to figure out her next investment, while tossing her pretty but sweaty curls out of her eyes while she walked on her treadmill and gazed out of her penthouse view of Manhattan. 

_Who writes this stuff?_

The email pinged again. 

_Good Girl. Yes, there is a way. No, I do not wish to discuss it over the internet. I doubt your internet  
connection is secure. _

_As for what I need you to do? That, is simple._  
 _  
1.Get well. I need you strong and healthy. That means rest, take your pharmaceuticals, do as your doctor orders. I suspect in a few weeks, you will begin physical therapy. Remember to yell Ficklebutte's name when you wish to curse. It will sound more lady-like and you will get much satisfaction from it._

_2.Tell your angel of an office manager to continue to lobby for business contracts and to run the office, business as usual, as if no sale is pending. Have her reassure your employees, your clients. You are not going out of business, not matter what poppycock that arsehole tells people._

_3.You will turn over all over responsibility and authority of stopping the take over to me. Trust me._

_4.It would also be helpful to you if you allowed me to handle the backlash of your car accident. You were the only one injured, but three automobiles, including your own, were totaled and two other vehicles sustained damage. You were only ticketed for running the red light, but your insurance company should only have claims for the vehicles. I am well acquainted with individuals of the insurance variety and they are a disgusting as Ficklebutte. Truthfully, insurance scum is similar to lawyer scum. By turning this over to me to handle, you can concentrate on the job of healing._

_5.Do not worry about reimbursing me for the cost of bringing your grandmother down or the cost of her hotel accommodations. It was the least I could do. In a way, your grandmother reminds me of my own mother. She is quite the tiger when she thinks someone is upsetting her cubs._

_6.I understand there is an office complex you are considering putting a bid on in one of the Carolinas. It would show the architectural community you mean business in continuing on if you continued to work on the project and put in a bid, if you desire. At the very least, it would amuse Ficklebutte and make him a bit more cocky. I personally look forward to emasculating the man. If you need a financial backer, I will be happy to supply the funds as a silent partner._

_7.On second thought, do call me Sir._

_8.It is late. You need to rest. I will be in touch, however be assured I will make an appointment to meet you in your office on Monday, February 3rd to discuss strategy for the stockholder's meeting on Friday the 7th. Ficklebutte thinks he has guns. I assure you what he has are nothing more than a child's empty water pistol and a cheap plastic one at that._

_If you need anything, contact me any time. You are my most important client, Genevieve, therefore I am at your service._

_Cris FitzG._

Genevieve read through the email several times, before responding, her fingers so not flying over the keys. 

Not waiting for a response, she turned the laptop off before shutting the lid and setting it painfully on the rolling tray. Before she pushed it away, she picked up the plastic bag of jewelry that had been in her duffel bag and slowly retrieved her wedding band. She looked it for several long minutes, inspecting the weave, the intricacy of the metal work. Her left hand, where it belonged, was encased in a cast and what part of her fingers were exposed, were grossly swollen. 

Therefore, she slid it on her right hand, followed by her betrothal ring. She then picked up the sketch pad she'd left out and flipped the pages past sketches of her dream home, the proposed working sketch of the Standrige-Coach Building for the Raleigh-Durham project-

_How did he know about that?_

-before continuing to the last sketch.

This sketch she had completed in her dreams, in a time almost a thousand years gone. She had drawn it in a convent, a convent that was probably in ruins now, overgrown with briars and thorny roses and God knows what else.

She laid her fingertips lightly on the charcoal lines, willing them not to smudge. The man's face was not quite full-on, the face full and serious, almost annoyed. His hair flowed, framed his face, was long, thick and black, the lips straight and thin. And that nose...

_I love you. I miss you. I need you. Where can I find you? If I can't find you, I'll find Ripley's, I'll find the pond. I pray I find you there._

Laying the pad between her legs, and turning off the lights, she laid down, attempted to get as comfortable as possible and cried herself to sleep.

_**~~~...~~~** _

Only a few miles away, in Genevieve's office in the Equitable building, two lights glowed in the room – the small barrister's lamp on her desk and the computer screen from the laptop sitting on the conference table. In the glimmer of the computer screen, the outline of a man's face was reflected in the glass panes of the highrise office building. The custodian had come and gone, but he was left, alone, as he had been all week. Folders, files were spread all over the long table; he and the angel jokingly referred to it as The War Room in Genevieve's absence. As he leaned back, the light from the screen glinted off the chain and the silver piece hanging around his neck, clearly visible behind his opened shirt collar. He stretched long arms over his head, tired, waiting for the response. He wanted to return to his small apartment in Smryna, but he had work to do, phone calls to make. Perhaps he'd simply call the Marriott and see if they had a room for the night. With her statement she intended to fight, everything he'd planned would now have to be put in motion. Yes. A room at the would be just what he needed.

The wait, if she responded, could be more than a few minutes as he knew she was typing with one finger. Standing up, he perused the room for not the first time, taking in the artistic and photographic representation of buildings she had created, her life, before she had been yanked from all that was familiar. 

Buildings, common areas, greenery, color. In one corner, was an easel, a large canvas with a partially completed scale drawing of an office complex, ranging from full color to simple lines penciled in. Behind her desk was a low, mahogany filing cabinet, pictures of her world, her and her grandmother riding, two young girls, one with a Genevieve smile, with their arms flung around each other. In this room, he had found a rich tapestry of her very essence, spread out on display...

For not the first time he picked up, and snarled at a picture of an ecstatic Genevieve and a rather reserved blonde man... the man's body language was wrong and it was as obvious as the nose on his own face! It took every ounce of self-control for him to set it back down where it originally rested, without throwing it through the window, trashing it.

Hearing no response from his laptop, he pulled out his cellphone and went to the far window, itself truly a door, that stepped onto a small balcony that overlooked a park and water fountain. In the corner was a bistro table, two chairs. Rather than sit, he went to the railing, looking over the bright lights of the city. His thumb pressed the preset and he waited impatiently for the person on the other end to answer.

“Took you long enough, brother.” 

There was squawking on the other end. Whoever was there was obviously in the middle of something he considered more important. 

“Look, I do not care how comely the wench you are toying with tonight is. The Game is on.” 

More squawking.

“She has come out of the coma, she is aware, she does not want to sell. Ficklebutte accosted her in her  
hospital room this morning.” He stopped while the man ranted. “I have decided that was most likely a good thing. He made her angry and she is a right firebrand when she is angry. I discovered her landlines here were tapped and I have swept the room for bugs, found several, and moved them to the men's toilets. Let whoever is listening, listen to that for a while. Yes, I was thorough. You are welcome to come check for yourself.”

Indignant yelling. 

“Do you have something to write on? The quicker you write this down, the faster you can get back to your whore. Yes, I am sure she is lovely and yes, I am sure she is of legal age, if barely, and thinks you are a gift from God. Archer, I do not have time for this! Do you have something to write with? Good. Ficklebutte is done. I have finished that. It is completely over, save he does not know it and I do not wish for him to know at this point in time! I need you to do the following: find out everything you can, clean and dirty on Ficklebutte, anyone he's communicated with in the last year. I need to know who leaked the sale of Genevieve's stock and who sold it to him. I want the name of the inside trader. I need to know if it was someone within Genevieve's company or someone close to her that she would not suspect. I also want you to investigate Lamar Franklin Robencourt and his mother, Adelle Robencourt, formerly Adelle Hanglin. With an 'I'. Just for shites and giggles, investigate Genevieve's former architect firm, let me look...” he pulled a notepad from his pants pocket, flipping through it, “Fairburn, Hatfield and Smithton Architects... of course it is illegal! This was not done legally to begin with and I am in no mood to fight fair... yessss, that's why I contacted you in the first place! Do you have all of that? Good. Put this note away and make sure the sweet young thing you are with does not get a hold of it. Wot? No! I am in no mood for a threesome! Plan on being in the south sometime in January. Yes, as in Atlanta! Of course the meals and the hotel will be on me. It always is.” 

He hung up and started to dial another number, before remembering that it was the middle of the night where he was calling. Instead, he tapped his email through his phone and sent a short message. 

_Plan to be in Atlanta Georgia USA the first week of February. The shopping is lovely. Expect to see you at Christmas. You say where. Much love._

He spent a few more minutes standing at the rail, enjoying the relative quiet of the night – well, quiet compared to other big cities he'd lived in. Atlanta was a big town, a busy town, but it wasn't as noisy or smoggy as New York City or London. During lunch, he'd sat out on this same balcony and listened to a live marichi band playing outside the Mexican resturant just across the street. There was enough here to be cosmopolitan and when one tired of it, one could simply drive up the road and be immersed in the rural areas of the Old South in less than an hour. The weather was warmer than he was used to, but the leaves would be turning in a few weeks in the north Georgia mountains and while he doubted he would see them this autumn, perhaps next...

The breeze picked up and he inhaled the promising scent of fall on the wind. Over the many years, he hadlearned to glean things from the wind, the earth, the electricity in the air. The changing of the seasons was one.

He returned to the office, closing and locking the door behind him. He reopened his email, smiling to see a  
response from her. He read over that last message three times before smirking. 

_All of this for me? Boy, when this is over, you're probably going to own me, rather than Ficklebutte! Or at the very least, I'm going to owe you dinner._

_Good night._

He leaned back, a long slender digit stroking the narrow philtrum over his lip. “My lady, I _already_ own you.” 

With that, he turned off the computer, turned off the light and making his way from the office building, called the Marriott and reserved a room for the night. 

He had one stop to make before he found rest in a rented bed.

_**~~~...~~~** _

Genevieve woke the next morning, her eyes tight and swollen from crying herself to sleep. The lump at the foot of the bed kept her from rolling a bit and remembered that she hadn't put away her sketch pad. She turned on the light and rubbed her eyes...

...to find a small stuffed plushie wolf cub and a single long-stemmed red rose at the foot of the bed on top of the sketch pad. As she picked it up, she realized something had been written boldly with a ball point pen at the bottom of the charcoal portrait of Guy. 

[](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/ZeeDippyVessel/media/drawmegingerhaole_zpsefbe4b58.jpg.html)  


_I am here._

_**~~~...~~~** _

_**I just saw Haley's Comet, she waved** _

_**~~~...~~~** _

_tbc_

_The Charcoal Portrait' was in fact done by Lily-Fox/Ginger Haole. It is reprinted with permission. The original is here at her DevaintArt Gallery. Please check out all of her work. It's quite beautiful!  
_

http://lily-fox.deviantart.com/art/Gisborne-357041552


	37. 36 ... from following after thee

_**Manna from Heaven** _

_**Chapter 36** _

_**...from following after thee** _

If the seconds between the time Genevieve entered the intersection and the time her car stopped went by in slow motion, the following two months sped by and more than made up for it.

Word spread like wildfire throughout the office of Robinson Architects that Genevieve had come out of her coma and made it clear things weren't changing. The strange man who had been literally camped in her office and going through the personnel office records, wasn't the buyer, but her new attorney who promised that sale wasn't happening.

Cris suddenly found himself inundated with home-made meals and cookies and cakes.

And flirted with in ways that made him want to hide. Southern women knew a drawl and a slow, sexy walk could bring a normal man to his knees! 

Luckily, once Genevieve assured him she had no intention of selling, he had things settled into place. With Val running the office, assuring current clients that the rumors being spread through the architectural community from an unnamed source were incorrect and nothing more than unfounded rumor, he was able to settle down to the business at hand, stepping into George's shoes and taking command of the law firm he was now a part of.

Unfounded rumor persisted, so perhaps the unnamed source needed to become named. 

After all, spreading lies was slander and that was a legal offense. And it had been made very clear that Genevieve Faith Robinson had no intention of selling or allowing a take-over of any sort.

And unbeknownst to anyone but 'Mr. Fitz G.', Ficklebutte was left in his office, stewing over having to wait, and gloating about what he was going to do to little Miss Genevieve for making him wait. He vowed she'd work at a Citgo gas station for the rest of her natural born days. 

He had no clue that someone else had plans for him. And from a most unexpected source. 

And not very nice ones.

Less than a week after she came out of her coma, the hospital room began to hop with visitors. Grace was forcing friends to schedule time; Genevieve wasn't resting and she needed to. As she came down from the morphine and other pain killers, becoming more aware, more in charge of what facilities were not in a cast, she began to confer with Val, her secretary, other members of her staff...

_Bid on this, how is that project coming, we have a deadline for the presentation of the remodel of the Woodaning Building, is there a deadline for the bids on the Standring-Coach project?_  
  
One week after her electronic conversation with her new attorney, she emailed again, wanting to know the status, what was going on, what was he planning...

His response? 

_I recall you turned complete control over to me. Trust me._

Her answer was swift. 

_I can't sit here and do nothing! This is my company! There are contracts to be fulfilled, meetings to plan, I want to know what you're doing to keep that slimy Yankee from yanking the rug from under me!_

She received a response an hour later and it left her fuming. 

_You asked me last week what you could do. I told you what you could do. As you seem to have forgotten, I will remind you in small words._  
 _  
1.Get Well. Have you begun your physical therapy? Has anyone spoken with you about Rehabilitation?_

_2.Leave the handling of the office and the day to day affairs to Ms. Oelle. She is splendid at what she does and managing everything wonderfully. She landed a new contract for you, and has received word on several projects you might be interested in, but I will allow her to tell you about them. In fact, I would steal her from you and have tried, but she rather crassly told me to bugger off!_

_3.You have turned all responsibility over to me regarding the hostile take-over. Trust me! Your company is not suffering financially, and by all reports, few are taking the reports of a hostile take-over seriously._  
 _  
4.I do not want to see or hear about you calling your office or being in your office until the first Monday in February. Your secretary (who, by the way, makes a fabulous strawberry shortcake) has made sure the only client you are seeing that day is me at 9:00 AM sharp. Please make sure you are on time. I will have several things to go over with you at the time. You have several options at your disposal._

_5.If you must 'work', work on future projects to the best of your ability. I understand you have a creative and agile mind that is more than likely stifling at inactivity that has been forced upon you, causing you to annoy people out of sheer boredom. I understand that. If you like, I will inform Ms. Oelle that you need something to occupy your time.  
_

_You have been through a horrific experience and it would behoove you and all around you that you concentrate on recuperating. I would come around to visit, however, your grandmother is a veritable dragon. Not to mention, I am dealing with a new law practice, hiring and retiring new and current personnel in this office, as well as maintaining a solicitor's office and several private companies in England._

_Please trust me. Your well-being is my main concern._

_Cris._

“AAARGH! That MAN!” Genevieve turned her laptop towards her grandmother, who after reading it, turned it back to her granddaughter. 

“I like this man. You should marry him.” 

Genevieve started to tell her she was already married, but bit her tongue. Bad enough, her wedding band and other things were here with her, but there was that lone note on her sketch...

_I am here_

… that she could not explain. 

_If he's here, where he is? Why is he hiding? Or did he add that back in Nottingham?_

Feigning indifference, Genevieve picked up her iPad and opened a random book. 

_The Warrior's Game_

_Ah geeez..._

_**~~~***~~~** _

“Hey chickie-poo!” Val swept into the hospital room, pulling a luggage roller with several briefcases behind her and carrying something that looked suspiciously like take out. “Look at you, sitting up and in make up!” She winked as she came around the bed. “You're looking human and like you're feeling better.”

“Serious pain killers only at night, and they are trying to wean me from the heavy narcotic ones in the day. Stuff still hurts, though, but at least the mind fog is starting to dissipate somewhat.” She rearranged the pillows on her left side. “I'm so bored that apparently I'm annoying my attorney.” She smiled brightly up at the woman. “Good news from osteo. My hip isn't shattered! Only cracked. And my lung puncture was very small, so it's healing itself!” She pushed her tray away and patted the side of the bed, inviting her friend to sit. “So basically, I have a broken leg, a broken hand, two broken ribs, and everything else is cracked, including my noggin.”

“Well, I always knew you were cracked.” Rare laughter bubbled up, causing Genevieve to groan in pain. “Watch out for those ribs. Cracked is always more painful than the broken ones, I hear.” 

“At least they'll heal sooner.” She pointed with her nose to the rolling luggage cart. “What'cha got?” 

“Besides the Pepper Steak and Rice for you?” Val set the take out on her mobile tray, “A little birdie told me,” Genevieve's office manager whispered with a conspiring tone, “that you were bored and might like to see how the company is faring. So I brought several reports and a few rudimentary sketches for the Woodaning remodel. The deadline is November 12th. So a little over a month from now. A bid on the Standring-Coach building is due in January, if you want to pursue it.” She began to pull sketches from a large, sturdy portfolio and spread them over Genevieve's lap. 

Genevieve began to pull and turn the large sketches, looking at them with a critical eye. “A little birdie?” She pulled one sketch to the side. “Too confining. Too many tight spaces. Abby can do better than that. They specifically stated open, airy, and roomy. Green atriums. I'll bet the little birdie's name is Cris Fitz.” 

“About birdies, I'll bet you're right. Speaking of green atriums, Bradley will be coming out of rehab in ten days and has expressed an interest in working with landscaping.” Val tilted her head. “I have some his preliminary sketches. His doctor and therapist thought it would aid the healing process and good for him. A positive, creative outlet.” She pulled out several sketches. “I agree.” She laid them on top of the current plans already laid on Genevieve's lap. 

Genevieve looked at them for several minutes, looking at the depth, the intricacy of the layouts. “These are really good,” she admitted. “Dammit. He is my engineer when it comes to foundations and dealing with soil and the surface ability to handle weight.” She met Val's eyes. “There is no one in the business better than he is at it! I do not want to live the nightmare of having a building sink a foot because of weight issues after it's been built. Not after what happened at the Atlanta Olympics in '96.”

“Bradley can still be your engineer for that purpose. He tends to work fast. Thorough, but fast.” She pointed to the drawings. “Face it. The man knows his dirt!” 

Genevieve was still perusing the sketches. “These are really good. How is Bradley doing?” 

“He's gaining weight and he has color in his face.” Val smiled and nodded. “He's doing great. He seems happy. He asks about you. A lot. He also said to thank you for the fruit basket and crusty joke books.” 

“Tell him my casts come off in three weeks and when they do, I should be in rehab myself for at least ten days after that. When I get out, he and I, we'll do lunch,” she picked up another landscaping sketch, “and discuss his work load, which will include working with the landscaping team.” She laid the drawings down. “Tell him I'm proud of him and happy and praying. And if he ever needs to talk, feels he's going to back slide, he can call me. Anything. I'll go to AA meetings with him, whatever, meet him at 2 AM for Krispy Kremes and coffee.” With that, she laid the drawings back down. “Val. What is going on with Cris and my company? Do you know what he has up his sleeve?” She settled back into the bed and the pillows. “I hate being kept in the dark and I am being kept in the dark!” She gritted her teeth. “How did that man get the majority of my stock?” 

Val exhaled and dropped her head. “There was an inside trader. We don't know who or when or why or how, but either way, Ficklebutte has one half of a percent more than you and your employees put together.”

“So, I'm screwed.” 

“Noooo,” Val intoned. “Inside trading is illegal. We find out who it is, that person's behind is going up river. He'll take Ficklebutte up with him or her. However, there is another problem.”

“Go on.” 

“Nine point five percent of the stock is... I don't want to say it's unaccounted for, but it's not in your hands or Ficklebutte's. Mr. Fitz has someone working on obtaining the list of who has those unaccounted for shares and getting them to side with us.”

“What if Ficklebutte is hunting them as well?”

“Oh, you can best assume he is. Cris has someone working on that, exclusively.” In an obvious attempt to change the subject, she picked up Genevieve's right hand. “That's a pretty ring. Where did you get it?”

Genevieve stared at the woman, not knowing if she should yell or just...

“Get my make-up bag and sketch pad from my duffel.” As Val rose from the bed, Genevieve began to ramble. “While I was unconscious, I had the most vivid dream. I mean, like I was there vivid. So detailed, I could likely write a book.”

“And what was this dream about?” Rattling was coming from the small closet. 

“I dreamed I spent six weeks in Twelfth century England. Nottingham to be exact.” 

Mirth was evident in Val's voice. “Oh dear God, don't tell me you fell in love with Robin Hood!” 

“NO! Robin was an asshole and a complete narcissist! I fell in love with Guy of Gisborne.” 

Val looked over her shoulder. “The bad guy? Oh, this is going to be good!” She set the sketch pad to the side behind her and continued digging. “I take it, this was your knight in black leather you mentioned just after you came out of your coma.” 

“Yeah. I fell in love with tall, dark, snarky, sex-on-legs in leather and I married him. And you were there.”

Val stood up, make up bag in one hand, sketch pad in the other. “I was at your wedding. Funny, I think I would remember that.”

“NO! You weren't at the wedding! But you knew about it. You visited a few times. Anytime I needed advice, you were there to give it!” She reached for the pad and the bag. “We sat on the roof of Locksley and watched dreamers play in the town square. We traveled through time on a porch swing, drinking mint juleps, while we did a 'This Is Your Life, Sir Guy of Gisborne'.” 

“Sounds like fun.” 

“It was awful! That man's childhood was wretched! A nightmare!” She reached for the make-up bag and began to struggle with the zipper. “You told me you were in league with the Angel of Death! OF DEATH! Days before I married him, you and I walked through Sherwood Forrest, discussing the contract, him, life in Nottingham, life with him. I gave you a list of things to do while I was out like a light! You had wings! I don't know what kind of angel you are, but you are one! Just like the nurse's aide who brought all the flowers is an angel!”

“Genevieve, you took a hard hit to the head-”

“I would say and think,” she hurried on, ignoring the woman sitting on the edge of her bed, finally opening the bag in her lap, “this was one spectacular dream, however there is a serious problem.” She pulled out a baggie of jewelry. “This,” she held up her right ring finger, “is my wedding band that he put on my finger when we married.” She then dumped the bagged jewelry in her lap, sifting through it. “This,” she held up another ruby ring, “was my betrothal ring and this,” she now pulled a leather thong from beneath her nightgown, “is his signet ring, which he gave me for safe passage when he hid me at Ripley's Convent!” She held up the wolf's head signet. Val simply stared at it. “I can't find my crucifix! It's not here! Don't tell me you don't know what I”m talking about because I know you do! Minutes before I woke up here, I gave it to him! I put it on him, hung it around his neck and told him to remember me.” She was now starting to cry. “I thought it would find its way back to me, but it hasn't.” She now grabbed the sketch pad and began to frantically turn the pages. “And I don't care because I would have given it to him anyway! I would chalk all of this up as a delusion, a dream, but there is this.” She found the sketch of Guy. “I drew this the morning we married. I was sitting in the garden waiting for him and drew this. He thought I drew his nose was too small.” She began to stab at it with her finger. “I drew this over 800 years ago. Not here, I didn't forget. I drew it in that garden, hours before we married and sometime, this-” she pointed to the writing on the bottom corner, “-was written on it last week while I slept! He also left this,” she searched for the wolf plushie, which was tucked next to her pillow, finding it and shaking it at her office manager, “and a red rose! Every morning since, I have found single red roses in my bed when I wake up!” She was now crying in earnest. “He wouldn't let me fake it when we made love! He kept at it until... until... He said it mattered!” She was enveloped by a full, comforting embrace. 

“Tall knight in leather and he makes sure you have an orgasm. Small wonder you fell in love with him.”

Genevieve tried to pull herself together and was having a difficult time of it. “I hadn't looked at the damn contract, but I read it there. I didn't understand a lot of it and he did!” Her notepad was on the bed, underneath the sketches. She pulled it out, flipping to the pages where she hand-wrote out the actual contract and her layman's translation. She pointed to his question, _'What is stock?_ ' “See? He understood the formality of it! And he translated the back end of it for me! Many times, I've sensed him at night. Here. Holding me. Protecting me. He's warm and he takes up the entire bed! Why... this? You told me to forget Lamar. I did! You told me to fall in love with Guy. I did! I did! Why doesn't he come in the daytime? When I'm awake? Why doesn't he call me, let me really know he's here? Why is he hiding from me? What if he's not hiding from me, he's really dead and someone is simply playing a horrible trick on me?” She looked up tearfully. “That would make more sense. Wild,crazy-ass dream, cruel, cruel person playing a trick. Probably one of the people I hit in the wreck. Or worse, Fickle-ass screwing with my scrambled brains!” 

Val let her cry it out, waiting patiently, holding her hand. “You nearly died on us, Genevieve. Really and truly, you nearly died, and extreme measures were taken to ensure your life and your safety. Maybe too extreme. You were getting ready to make a decision that would cost you and all of your employees everything and we just wanted to get you to a quiet place to reconsider and set things straight. I'm sorry we toyed with your heart as well.” Genevieve's crying began anew. “No, no. Wait.” Val pulled back. “If his love was so strong as to last 800 years and somehow he managed to leave you this note,” she tapped on the sketch pad, “and let you know he is here, well then, he's here. Waiting.”

“But-”

Val tapped Genevieve's chest. “Right now, he lives right where you need him. Here, in this spot.” She stood up, preparing to leave. Grace had been left up on Peachtree Street, shopping at Rich's and her driver was to bring her down to the hospital until visiting hours were over. “He lives on in your heart, chickie-poo.” She placed the folders and other things at the foot of her bed. “I'll leave the reports and things for you. Things are going well, but we miss you. We need you. You are the heart and soul of your company. Eat and get some rest before your grandmother gets here. She's been shopping and only God knows what that woman will show up with.” The woman snarled. “I wouldn't put her past her to find some granny thongs.”

She left the room, leaving Genevieve hiccupping and twisting her wedding band.

_**~~~***~~~** _

“Do you have any idea how deeply she is grieving?”

Guy Crispin FitzGisborne sat at his desk – his own desk, in his own office, at the law firm he was now fully a partner in and expected to be completely in charge of as The Lead Senior Partner within six months – was staring at the reports on his desk, all while spooning raw cookie dough from a pint bucket into his mouth. “Do you think I have not seen her? Laid up in plaster and bruised under all of it? It makes my heart clutch!”

“That's not what I'm talking about! She thinks you are dead and someone involved in that accident is playing tricks on her! Or that Ficklebutte is toying with her! What are you eating?”

“I have no idea why she would think I am dead. I have told her I am here.” He lifted the pint to show Genevieve's office manager. “I am eating dinner. Would you like some? I believe there is a second spoon here in my desk, somewhere.” 

“That is disgusting!”

He shrugged and continued to eat. “To each his own.” He gracefully turned the page of what he was reading, chewing all the while. Finally, he swallowed. “I have told her I am here. I have communicated with her on several occasions-”

“True, but she doesn't know _who_ you are! To her, you are Cris Fitz-G, her attorney, not Guy, her husband!” Cris raised an eyebrow at that, and slid a report to the side, obviously done with it. “Why are you keeping yourself from her? You rely on electronics. Email, texting.” 

“I have gone to see her. Of course, she has been asleep or drugged up.” He continued to chew thoughtfully, while continuing to read currently open cases that George Stallop had left in various forms of disarray. “Trippy, I believe she called it. Yes. Very trippy.” He didn't blame the man, truly he didn't. He did blame the man's secretary. The first thing he did, the Monday he became a partner, was to begin to undo the mess she caused calling clients – including Genevieve – telling them not to find new attorneys. 

It was obvious the woman wanted to retire and was clearing out the office so she could do such. Speaking of...

“Can you plan a retirement party for an imbecile? I realize she is Mr. Stallop's secretary and therefore not your concern, however her last day is this Friday, and I would like for the woman to go out with a bang.”

“You didn't answer my question.” 

“Agree to plan the retirement party and I will answer your question.” 

Val growled. “I'll order a cake. How's that?” 

“That will suffice. Put on it, 'Good Riddance. Good-bye. Best of luck, you old tart!” Val hung her head. The man had not mellowed since she'd plucked him from Nottingham castle cellar when he'd died before it was blown up. “As for your question, in case you have not noticed, Genevieve's contract is a mess, the background of it is a mess, and I have a mess in this practice. Someone released Genevieve's stock without her knowledge and quite frankly, I would love to know who the insider was, as I intend on having him or her prosecuted to the full extent of the law. It was a private release! If I get no satisfaction from the law, I will make someone's life a misery on earth! I do not trust her former boyfriend or his mother. Therefore, it would be safe to say I am up to my eyeballs in paperwork. I do see her at night, even if she is sleeping. And besides, she has much to keep her occupied. Her grandmother, her work-”

“You're frightened,” Val gasped. “You fear her feelings have changed, that all you've done to get to this point to be with her, you fear she won't feel the same for you! You're frightened she'll thank you and go on without you!” 

“No.” 

“If you think she is still in love with tha-”

“That over-bearing, foppish, ruttish boar-pig?” 

Val snorted. “I was going to say 'nerf-herder.” Now Guy grunted. “Oh, you cannot be serious!”

“There is a framed picture-”

“Guy! You must remember that the last time she was in that office, she thought that man wanted to marry her! Her world has changed since then! She's lived an entire life with you!”

He dug his spoon into the dough. “And what if she decides that she made a similar mistake with me?” he growled.

“GUY!” The woman stood tall, almost a foot taller than Guy, wings snapping and spread, taking up the majority of the sparsely furnished office. “She loves you! She is wearing your wedding band and keeps your old signet close! She would wear it, but it is too big for her thumb, and the hospital doesn't like for her to wear it around her neck!” 

He snarled into his 'dinner'. “Stop that! I am not frightened of your wing-trick!” He then looked up at her and smirked one-sided. “And you will frighten my secretary if she comes in.” 

Val returned to her earthly form, frowning at the air. “You were petrified of Douma.” 

“Lucifer is petrified of The Angel of Death!” he scoffed. “Have you seen her eyes?” He stuck his spoon straight into the dough and used his index fingers to spin in front of his. “They spin like a child's kaleidoscope. 'Tis positively disconcerting.” He opened his laptop and hit the power switch. “If all you are going to do is lambast my dinner choices,” he shooed her towards the door, “please leave. I am busy. Make sure my lady wife is occupied and focused on healing.” He pulled the spoon from the dough and stuck it in his mouth.

Val didn't budge, both hands on her hips. “You know, you can get salmonella poisoning from eating that.” 

Guy yanked the spoon from his mouth, slamming it on his desk, causing it to bounce and fly across the room. “Why is it, I have been alive off and on for over 800 years and never, not once, have I ever witnessed or heard of anyone dying from any disease caused by eating raw cookie dough?” He pointed angrily at the woman in front of him. “I simply think 'tis a lie some wanker made up trying to keep me from living my life!” He glared darkly as the angel stormed from the office, leaving for parts unknown. He waited until her heels stopped echoing down the hall and waited for the _ding_ of the elevator, before wiggling his fingers and typing into the laptop. “Ah, shall we see what idiocy is being twittered today?” 

_****_

~~~***~~~

By the time Genevieve was released to the rehab center, towards the end of October, her doctor had threatened to put a revolving door in her room. Her employees came and went. Her grandmother came and went. Her friends came and went. Her attorney did not come and go.

Her wedding band stayed on. Guy's signet remained around her neck.

Late one evening, exhausted from physical therapy, she researched Nottingham Castle, found it had been blown to smithereens after her time. She wondered if Guy had escaped or fell in the explosion. 

She prayed Vaisey had been in it and died. 

She looked for Ripley's Convent, found references to the ruins and a quiet, obscure excavation headed up by the local Earl and Lord of Locksley. Very little was found, save for the catacombs that mostly served as the burial chambers for the nuns. It was mentioned a few 'notable bodies' were found buried with the nuns. 

No mention of who. 

Lamar was showing up on the society page with a new tall, slender, over-done-up and rather young bleached blonde, whose name was Savannah. 

To which Genevieve wadded up the page and threw it into the waste basket across the room. She wasn't upset or jealous. The girl looked like a porn star and her fake tits were falling out of her two sizes too small dress. The Gator would put an end to her pretty quick. 

Except Savannah, according to Genevieve's very flamboyant senior architect, Marquis, was The Gator's Stock Broker and her family was considered Southern Gentility in Georgia, South Carolina, and Louisiana. The Gator personally arranged and blessed the relationship.

_But girlfriend, you know the two of you dated for three years! You wrecked about the same time he broke it off with you. You'd think he'd be a little bit human and at least send you an email or a PM on Facebook! A Get Well poesy!_

_Key word: human._

Lawyers aren't known for their humanity. 

Her wedding band stayed on. Guy's signet remained around her neck.

Physical therapy was hell. 

And then the casts came off. 

And hell began to look good. Really good. 

Within thirty minutes after the casts came off, Genevieve entered the shower for the first time in weeks, armed with shampoo and conditioner, a floral body wash and a razor, reveling in the heat, the steam, and gleefully watching perceived sweat, blood, hair, and just general body grodiness swirl down the drain with the soap bubbles.

Flowers continued to come in from 'CFG' as he had taken to signing them. Often they were accompanied by vague promises and threats. 

_Get well_

_Take care_

_Ticket taken care of. You are welcome._

_No swearing._

_Looking forward to February._

_Be mean. Growl._

Growl? What sort of message is that to put on Get Well Roses???

_Dear Attorney who claims he's saving my butt._

_Thank you for the eight dozen roses today. They are beautiful and I believe the orderly here is jealous. We are having to find new places to put them all! We're talking about opening up a vased botanical garden! Thank you for dealing with the accident ticket and court. I'm sure there was a fine. Please bill me for it. This was not part of your pro bono agreement. I have a question. How am I supposed to be mean, growl, but not swear? Are you serious?_

_Sincerely_  
 _Your supposedly most important Client, who'd just soon throw all these lovely crystal vases at someone's head. Would you like to volunteer for target practice?_

Guy smirked when he read that one. She was becoming cheeky. But was she being frustrated or was she flirting with him and if so, did that mean she was getting over him? Him him. Her husband, Him.

_One way to find out._

His response was mildly suggestive. Certainly not as depraved as he was completely capable of. It took an hour before she responded. 

_Excuse me, but I am your client, not your floozy. Bill me. Have a nice Thanksgiving._

Heh. That answers that!

Her wedding band stayed on. Guy's signet remained around her neck.

Her receptionist and one of her junior architects visited five minutes later while she was still growling. 

“Mr. Fitz?”

“Oh, he's gorgeous, Gen!”

“I'd tap that.” 

“More than once.” 

“An absolute hottie!” 

“Old World manners! Oh, Laws!”

“And that accent?” 

“To diiiiiiiiiie for!” Both ended together. At that point, the two began to glisten – because no self-respecting southern woman sweats or perspires. 

Her wedding band stayed on. Guy's signet remained around her neck.

She came out of rehab the second week of November and discovered That Attorney had paid for a rental for her until December 10th, giving her ample time to purchase another vehicle. She had lunch with Bradley, who _did_ look healthier than he had in a long time. He was happier, smiled, thanked her for offering to be an ear – he admitted no less than a dozen co-workers, including Val and the entire landscape design team, had given him phone numbers and pleas to call anytime. He was estranged from his parents, but had too many invites for Thanksgiving Dinner. For the first time in years, he felt he had a family. 

Genevieve went home and promptly cried. 

Her wedding band was moved to her left hand. Guy's signet remained around her neck.

Around Thanksgiving, she bought a new BMW. 

She wanted a Sherman Tank, painted red with turret and mortar shells. The salesman thought she was joking. 

Her grandmother informed him she wasn't.

Her wedding band stayed on. Guy's signet remained around her neck.

She made an appointment with her gynecologist and the week after Thanksgiving, had the implant removed. For some odd reason, she felt she should go on the pill and her doctor agreed. Her rash was cleared up in days. 

After a month of silence, That Man emailed her.

_Just to let you know, things are on schedule and going as planned. Breathe easy. This time next Christmas, Robinson Architects will still be in business, with you as head of the company, building anything you wish, from high rises, to sand castles. I will be in England for three weeks during the holidays. I believe I will squeeze in some skiing in France with my family, as well as take care of business on the estate. I will return on January 3rd. If you need me, email. I will be checking it on a daily basis. Have a happy Christmas._

_PS. My apologies for the crass note I sent some weeks back. It was not my intent to offend. Too much wine, but that is no excuse. 'Tis not my habit to proposition clients, nor have I ever felt the need to obtain a floozy. Your bill has been mailed._

_Yours_  
 _CFG_

Genevieve's eyebrows shot up. That was one, pretty apology!

_Oooooooh, score for the Fitz-man!_

The bill, when it came, came to a grand total of dinner at Nikolai's Roof, followed by after dinner drinks atop the Polaris. His treat. Payment was Genevieve's expected company.

She twisted her wedding band. This man was going to be difficult. Nightly dreams were filled with a 12th century knight and a huge, four-poster bed.

For the first time in years, Genevieve was at loose ends during the holidays, not on a beach or on a mountain top, looking for the bunny run. She decided that a quiet Christmas was what the doctor ordered. One with family – and she considered Val family – and warmth. She'd invited Bradley for Christmas dinner, which he accepted. He was going to be at someone's house every night between Christmas Eve and New Years Day. For the first time in some years, she bought a real tree, (Lamar was 'allergic') and she and Grace laughed too much and drank too much egg nog putting it up. Her condo looked festive and she was gimping around – soldiering it quite well.

A week before Christmas, Genevieve, Grace, and Val took a shopping excursion to Phipps Plaza. It had been a long time since Genevieve had been there – she enjoyed it, but The Gator felt it was beneath her. As much as she hated it, she was walking with a limp and both her grandmother and office manager/friend/sometime maybe angel insisted she keep a cane with her. Somewhere, Val had found – and bought – a silly hot pink cane, with a miniature feather boa and jester bells, that made Genevieve laugh hysterically. 

_Might as well make fun of it! Enjoy the stupidity._

The mall was packed, people jostling each other and Grace and Val ended up creating a barrier around her. Grace informed her that the bells on her granddaughter's cane would help her find Genevieve if she got lost in the holiday madness. After all, she lost Genevieve once in the mall in Lexington only to find her after searching tearfully for an hour, eating candy and sitting on the counter, wrapping the security detail around her pinkie. 

“Did I send out employee gifts this year?” 

“Yes, you did!” Val responded enthusiastically. 

“You slaved in the kitchen making chess pies for everyone!” Grace muttered.

“I did?” She looked at her grandmother, who was busy looking in a shop window, with mannequins dressed in rather dapper three piece suits. “When did I find time to do that?” 

Grace raised an eyebrow, but never looked at her granddaughter. “Why, while you were in rehab, of course.”

“That was for Thanksgiving, Grace,” Val retorted. “She made a mess out of my kitchen and your kitchen, making that many chess pies.” She leaned over and whispered to Genevieve. “You sent out gift cards for restaurants and Publix, along with fruit and nut baskets. Very nice ones.” 

Genevieve seemed to be lost in thought. “Normally, I add stock to retirement packages as well.” 

“I know, chickie-poo. Everyone knows what is going on with Ficklebutte and that you're fighting it.”

“Cris said not to worry. It's taken care of. But-”

“No buts.” The three women stopped in front of a small, but rather expensive womens' boutique. “If he says it's taken care of, it's taken care of.” The mannequins on display were arrayed in holiday splendor: sequins, full skirted gowns, form-fitting bodices. The small sign stated that a seamstress was in for alterations. “Gen? How are you holding up?” 

The boutique was halfway down the mall. “Ready for a break, after this shop?” Val nodded towards the small bistro a few shops down. 

As much as she hated to admit it, Genevieve's energy was already flagging. “Val, would you go see if they take reservations. With the mall this busy, I really don't want to wait in a line for an hour.” She watched as the woman strode off, noticing how people seemed to just move out of her way. 

_People have always done that, just stepped to the side. Why am I just now really noticing?_

Grace was standing in the doorway, motioning for Genevieve to go first.

Upon entering, Genevieve immediately wished she hadn't. Being laid up and unpartnered since the end of September, she discovered she missed the social whirl; the parties, the fund-raisers, the benefits. She missed dressing up and going out. While she attended the events to be with her former boyfriend, she also used the time to network, gossip about things happening around Atlanta and the South. It was such an event that put her in contact with her first contract, among other ventures. It's where she first heard about the Standring-Coach Project. 

She could go without a date. She had done it before she began seeing Lamar, but she realized that being with Lamar opened many doors for her. Perhaps Marquis' current squeeze wouldn't mind if he accompanied her for a time. She fingered a deep purple gown, obviously of the clingy variety. 

She could hear Marquis' voice in her head. _'Girlfriend, with your hips and girls? I don't think so! No straight man would hear a word fall from those honey lips of yours!'_

She sighed and walked away. Just what every woman wanted and needed living in her head – her gay male girlfriend!

“Honey? That dress wouldn't...Genevieve?” Grace followed her granddaughter as she drifted to the back, her eyes set on a swath of cream wool.

_No. Not after all this time. It can't be..._

In the back, hanging on a dress-makers dummy, was a long, cream-colored gown. The details were lost on Genevieve, because all she could see was the cloak that covered it. It was a matching cream, with a fur trim. Her hand reached out, Genevieve mindless of doing it. As her fingertips lightly brushed the fur, she turned her hand, the knuckles stroking the fine wool.

“Would you like to try it on?” The sales woman was Grace's age, her hair in a bun. 

“Yes.” Where Genevieve's voice came from, she would never know. “The cloak. Please.” 

The cloak was taken from the mannequin, brought to Genevieve...

_Am I nuts? Where would I wear this?_

With the stiffness of someone still healing, she flung the cloak around, settling it about her shoulders, watching how it fell about her in the large mirror. The clasp was a large broach, ornate, antebellum... it graced the floor in gentle folds, made to cover a long dress, with full skirts.

“Oh Genevieve, it looks like it was-”

_… made for me._  
  
As she looked at it in the mirror, the edges of the reflection of the shop faded, darkened, the details becoming non-existent, hazy. As she focused on the cloak, she became aware of a shadow taking shape behind her. A tall, dark man in padded chain mail and longish hair became solid in the reflection of the mirror, his hands gently grasping her shoulders. He leaned over, his touch, his whisper so familiar.

[](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/ZeeDippyVessel/media/Fic%20Artwork/EvaMarieTokerThehoundswhitecloak_zps4c0d8048.jpg.html)

_Je t'aime, Lady Gisborne...Être avec moi._

“Rester avec moi, mon seigneur,” she whispered, unaware that her grandmother and the saleslady were staring at her, as if she had grown a second head. “Je t'adore, Gui de Gisbourne.”

There was that smile, that smile of his that was so very rare, most would swear it didn't exist. _I am always here. Ever by your side._ He began to fade, causing Genevieve's eyes to fill with tears. _I will never leave you..._

Genevieve's hand clutched at his on her shoulder, only to grasp the material of the cloak, the shadow completely evaporating. Blinking rapidly, she whispered, “I... I'll take the cloak.”

“Gen?” It was obvious her grandmother was concerned. She sniffed the air, surprised at the scent of leather that permeated it. Genevieve looked up and saw Val moving quickly towards her, dodging through the racks and other clients.

“I'll take the cloak,” she reiterated, undoing the clasp and removing it from her shoulders. “I'm very tired. I'd like to go home now.” She handed the cloak to the saleslady. Her right hand immediately grasped her finger wearing her wedding band. 

“There is a two hour wait at the bistro, chickie-poo. Maybe, one of the restaurants on Peachtree-”

“No.” She shook her head emphatically. “I'm not hungry. I'm tired and want to go home.” She grasped her cane and ducked around the two women, going to the register to pay for the cloak. 

“Val, I am worried about my girl.” Grace's jaw was clenched tight. “Something happened to her in that crash. And now, she looks as if she saw a ghost.” And with that pronouncement, she headed off to join her granddaughter. Val swallowed hard and followed.

_She did, Grace. She did._

_**~~~***~~~** _

January flew by quickly, drab and dreary as January always was, once the holiday decorations came down. It was Genevieve's least favorite month; the rooms of her condo, the streets, dull and drab and gray and silent in the absence of twinkling lights and color of Christmas now gone.

With Val bringing proposals and sketches back and forth, Genevieve's firm put in a bid on the Standring-Coach building. It was a good bid, the layout innovative and unusual. The only question mark was would she have a company when they made their decision? It was due the second week of February. 

Genevieve's grandmother returned to Kentucky the first week in January, reluctantly to be sure, but necessary. She had been away from her farm for too long and Genevieve was chafing to be left alone. As he had before, her attorney arranged a car to drive Grace back to Kentucky. Under normal circumstances, Genevieve would have driven her back herself, or at the very least, ridden with her, but she still tired easily. The day after her grandmother left, she went shopping alone. Shopping cured many ills, including the January blahs, Genevieve's home taking on a new coziness, the condo's personality changing from a former boyfriend's preference to minimalism and stark colors to the owner's more colorful, buoyant personality. As the atmosphere within the home returned the normalcy, and Genevieve was slowly weaned from pain killers, her needs surged, demanding to be met. Deciding to make a night of it the last Friday in January, Genevieve treated herself to dinner at a wonderful Chinese restaurant, close to the Perimeter Mall, taking her Kindle and relishing the first in a series of naughty BDSM-themed novels by Lexi Blake. 

_Thank you, Jesus, I am faceless on Amazon!_

It was Friday and the place was packed with couples, loud and raucous groups of friends, but she paid little attention. She went to Barnes and Nobles, bought two books – fantasy - and some music – jazz. It dawned on her as she clutched her purchases to herself, that Lamar despised both genres and maybe, just maybe, she was finally shedding the last of him. 

As she got in her car and locked it, her iPhone vibrated. Seeing George's call back number, she quickly picked up. 

“George!” Her enthusiasm was sincere. “How are you? How are you doing?” 

The man actually sounded relaxed and jovial. “Calling to check on you! I'm largely retired now, but I wanted to see how you're doing. You are meeting Cris on Monday?” 

“Yes,” she was digging through her purse for her keys. “Looking forward to it. I have a load of emails and texts from him, but nothing since he returned from the holidays in England.” 

“Gen, I don't know how he keeps up; the firm here, the firm in London, the family lace factory. Listen,” he got quickly to business, as was his way, “I know the last few months have been difficult, and as awful as it is, this wreck of yours was probably the best thing that could happen to you. It gave you time to sort this whole mess out.” 

“I have to be honest, George,” finding her keys, she put them in the ignition, waiting to crank the engine. “I'm worried. I don't know what your man has up his sleeve.”

“Well, I know what it is, but I promised him I keep it to myself. I can guarantee, you are NOT going to lose your business to that jackass.”

“If you say so,” she smiled, “then it's true. You're the only attorney I trust.” She was now pulling out the new jazz CD out of its case, opening it to put in the CD player of her car. She cradled the phone between her shoulder and chin. 

“Well you can trust Cris, as well. Speaking of... attorneys...”

“Hmmm mmm?” 

“It's none of my business, but... Lamar...” 

“He called and left a message on my phone the afternoon of the wreck. I was listening to it when I went through the red light. We are no longer a couple.” She took a steadying breath. “I realize your family and his are friends and I hope that doesn't interfere with my business relationship with your firm.” 

The car was silent, the CD hanging on the edge of the player. 

The response was whispered in the earpiece. “I didn't mean to pry.”

She tapped the CD in, not turning on the system as of yet. “It's okay. I'm over him. Savannah or whatever flavor of the month is welcome to him.”

“So, you're okay?” 

“I'm fine.” 

There was an audible sigh of relief. “I'm glad to hear that. You know, Cris is single, good looking. An English Earl and a Knight. I'm willing to bet the two of you-”

She was twisting her wedding band. “George. I'm fine and I'm over Lamar, but I'm not ready to jump into the dating pool yet.” 

_I'm widowed, too..._

“I am still recuperating and I'm dealing with a hostile takeover. And then I'll have to deal with a company that hasn't seen their employer in over three months.” Needing to turn the tables, she continued. “How are you doing, George?” 

It was quiet. “Some days are good. Most days aren't. The holidays...thank God my son and daughter and their kids were here. The noise was welcome.” 

“I'm sure you miss her. She was a lovely lady.”

For a moment, there was an uncomfortable silence. Finally, 

“Rest up, Genevieve. Cris will have you busy all morning on Monday. Create some awesome buildings and enjoy Friday's stock holder meeting. You're holding all the cards. Trust me.Take care.” 

_What is it about attorneys and the phrase 'Trust me'? It seems to be every other word out of Cris or George's mouth!_

Genevieve made the short drive home, taking out the new CD before walking into a silent apartment. She missed her grandmother, she missed the noise, but she found herself missing Thornton and Eleanor and Joffrey and wondering what happened to them. She missed the sound of children playing around the pond, but mostly she missed Guy. She missed his level-headedness about things, his matter-of-fact way of addressing problems. 

She lit candles, lowered the lights. As she leaned back naked on the bed, her hands caressed her body, wishing, dreaming, they were another's. And as she delved between her legs, she looked through slitted eyes...

...to see Guy sitting at the foot of the bed, naked, stroking himself, and watching her intently.

Watching him, watching the look of appreciation and interest on his face, she finished it.

_**~~~***~~~**  
_

There comes a time one must outfit themselves for battle. It was Genevieve's first day back and while she only intended to put in only half days that first week, she had a feeling Monday was going to be all day. As much as she hated it, she put her pain killer, her muscle relaxer and her Tylenol in her purse, just in case. She was meeting her attorney for the first time, so she took extra care of her make-up. She wore her favorite power business suit, grumbling over the panty hose and wishing the bendy black flats were the heels her left foot complained bitterly about when she tried them on the night before and was forced to take off before she got her foot completely in them.

She'd forgotten how shitty Atlanta traffic was. Making her way down I400 and onto I85, the disc jockey on The River told her at least she wasn't stuck on The Spaghetti Bowl. Two wrecks were making a lot of lives miserable on the northeast side that morning and Malfunction Junction on the northwest side wasn't much better.

[](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/ZeeDippyVessel/media/Fic%20Artwork/morningtraffic_zps8ec1dc11.jpg.html)  


She breezed into the parking deck at ten minutes before nine, wondering how prompt Cris would be. The parking attendant was glad to see her, she was able to find a spot near the elevator, thank you, Jesus. Two briefcases, hip popping already, she entered the main thoroughfare, smiled at people she recognized, but whose names she didn't know.

No tall British man in the lot. 

Her wedding band glinted in the reelection of the gold-colored sheet metal of the inside of the elevator. No. She wasn't ready or wanting to resume dating. Like George, she was dealing with the death of her husband, even if he had died 800 years before. To her, he had been in her arms, three months before, alive and full of life. She still didn't know where to begin to look for him. 

She was greeted as she stepped off the elevator, Bradley and Suzette taking her briefcases and Bradley offering an arm. Mallory ran by bouncing, and whispered there were fresh Kristy Kremes and coffee in the break room. She disappeared around the corner vowing to snatch the sugar-covered creme filled her boss adored. Her receptionist waved, immediately picked up the phone and called her secretary. The office was buzzing. Genevieve was back.

“Is he here? Mr. Fitz?” 

Bradley's face immediately soured. “No, but Ficklebutte is.” 

Genevieve scowled, taking her briefcases from the two and whispered, “Go to your offices, but leave the doors open. He's not supposed to be here.”

As she moved into the reception area in front of her office, she saw that yes, Ficklebutte was there waiting and her door was open. She focused on her name plate and made a bee-line for it. “Good morning, Renee. Hold all calls and make sure Mr. Fitz is sent in straight away.” Not stopping, she didn't even look at the man standing next to the desk. “You have no business being here until Friday. Leave now!” 

“We have business, Genevieve.” 

“My name is Miss Robinson. You will address me as such. Again, you do not have an appointment, I do not have time for you and I'm telling you to leave now.” 

“We have business and there is nothing to discuss or wait for. All you have to do is sign-”

Genevieve turned to her secretary. “Call security.” She ignored the man and continued into her office. 

It hadn't changed. It was just like she left it that Friday in September. The first thing her eyes fell on was the framed picture of her and Lamar behind her desk. She set both briefcases on her desk, stepped around the furniture and picking up the picture, dropped it frame and all into the trash. 

Ficklebutte followed her in. “You don't have a choice, Genevieve-”

“According to my attorney, I have a lot of choices, none of which you have shared with me. I will make my decision after conferring with my attorney. You will be informed of that decision on Friday.” 

She heard paper being unfolded. “If you will just sign here-”

“Do you have a hearing problem?” She began to pull open her drawers. “Dammit. Where is it?” She dropped her purse in the bottom right hand corner of her desk. 

“I have a pen, right here.” He reached into his pocket, clicking it as he removed it.

“No. I'm looking for my 9mm Glock.” Now she looked up at him. “I have an intruder and I'm being accosted. When I find it, I'm going to shoot him if he does not leave my office now.” Trying to find a balance inside and calm herself, she picked up one of her briefcases and made her way to the conference table. Somewhere between her desk and the long table, her left hip popped, letting Genevieve know that her day was now going to get much worse. With more calm than she was feeling, she set the briefcase on the table and sank into well-padded conference chair, her back to the door. Before she could open the case, the contract was placed in front of her, along with a fountain pen. “Sign there,” the finger pointed, “and there.” 

Genevieve took the pen from him and flung it into the trash can. “You. Are. An. Ass.” She looked up at him, furious. “And deaf too.” 

His smile was syrupy sweet. “Let me explain the facts of life to you, missy. I own more of your company than you and your employees. I'm ousting you. At least with this, your employees, who are your life, will have something to live on for six months while they hunt for other jobs. I might hire one or two. If you're a good girl, I'm sure I can find a spot for you with my company-”

The speaker buzzer on her desk went off. “Miss Robinson? Mr. Fitz just stepped off the elevator.” 

Her eyes never left Ficklebutte's face. “Send him straight in. Has security arrived?” 

“I believe they are with him.” 

“Good.”

Ficklebutte inhaled and continued, speaking a bit faster. “Either as a secretary or perhaps in some years, a junior architect. Wouldn't you enjoy that? Of course, you would no longer enjoy the lifestyle you have become accustomed to, but downsizing never hurt anyone. Anyone who wants to work, that is.” 

Genevieve's smile matched the man leaning over her, trusting George. “What I am going to look forward to making sure everyone knows that I wear heels bigger than your dick.” His eyes swept down to her feet, seeing the flats she was wearing. 

“Let me put this another way, you little bitch-”

“I'M NOT SELLING!”

“You don't have a choice!” The man looked as if he were frothing, saliva congregating at the side of his mouth. “I have the power in making sure you never work again! Play nice and-” 

“Ficklebutte. Funny meeting you here.” 

Genevieve's eyes shot up, staring out the window in front of her and seeing the skyline of Atlanta.

_That... voice... it can't be..._

“Ah, FitzGisborne. If you will quickly advise your client-” 

“I am advising her to take her foot and shove it up your arse.” There was the rustle of paper. “You should listen to your own solicitor. Not only did Judge Abercrombie state the date of the stockholders meeting, he also stated you were not to contact my client in any way, shape, or form.” Ficklebutte grabbed the legal document from him, not looking at. “You have now violated that order twice.” 

_Guy?_

The reflection of her attorney in the window was muted, not translucent. He was tall, extremely so, wearing a black suit with a dark... a blue shirt.

“It doesn't change anything.” 

There was a deep sigh, Genevieve still staring out the window, white knuckles gripping the edge of the table. “Well, if you are standing in front of a judge because of your insistence on harassing my client, I am sure it won't look well for _your_ reputation. And I will file a lawsuit stating such.” 

_It... it can't be!_

“You are only putting it off. I have no problem destroying her reputation and I can make sure she never works again!” 

Genevieve could hear the light-heartedness in Guy's voice. “There will be no sale. You will not oust my client as owner or CEO of this company, nor will you succeed in destroying her reputation in any way. If you attempt any of these things, I will have you personally up on slander charges, which is a federal offense punishable by incarceration and will result in monetary damages to you. I suspect you would be hurt by that more than she will.” It was silent save for Ficklebutte's heavy breathing. “As you see, I have two gentlemen with me who will escort you to your car. Do not attempt to contact me or my client in any way, or I will make your life a misery you have never experienced. We will see you on Friday morning.” 

The contract was snatched from in front of her, Ficklebutte growling he didn't need escorted and a deep, gravelly voice telling him he would get an escort anyway. 

The room went silent. 

“Genevieve?” 

At first, she didn't answer. Just sat, staring out at the Sun Trust building, shaking her head. Finally. “It can't be. It just can't be.” 

There was presence, a shadow over her. “Genevieve. Please look at me.” 

“I can't.” She lowered her head, staring now at the grain of the table. “It's a lie, I'm dreaming. I'm asleep.” 

It was hushed for a moment before she heard the sound of a delicate chain clinking. She watched as long fingers came into view, her crucifix, _her crucifix_ , spinning madly before it settled, the metal jingling as it was laid on the table in front of her. 

“I have waited,” he began quietly, “through hell and back to return this to the beautiful soul who loaned it to me and thank her for it. It has kept me sane, kept me focused, for a long, long time. The promise of her made the years of insanity so worth it.”

She picked up the crucifix, tears rolling down her cheeks. “This is impossible.” 

“I have discovered to never think anything is impossible.” He moved behind her, his hands boldly grasping her shoulders, his thumbs stroking her shoulder blades. “All these years, I loved you not for the way you danced with my angels, but for the way the sound of your name could silence my demons.”

Guy reached over her, picking up her hand, the one wearing her wedding ring. “You are wearing the proof that I love you.” He saw the chain about her neck, lifting his signet ring from beneath her blouse. “Surely you harbor some small bit of love for me still. Please Genevieve. Look at me. Tell me you still love me.” He sank beside her, on one knee and brought the cup of her hand to his cheek and leaned into it, pressing it to him. “Please. Do not make me beg.”

At the word 'beg', she looked up, vision blurred through tears. 

He was... he was still Guy. He was older, crinkles about his eyes that showed he did know how to smile and he smiled often. His hair wasn't as long or as dark, not the inky black of her memory, but it brushed past the neckline of his suit jacket and curled behind his neck. It no longer framed his face, but was combed straight back. 

His face was leaner, the planes, the cheekbones of his face more pronounced. That nose was the exact same, noble, perfectly chiseled. He dropped her hand, allowed her to stroke his neck, fix his collar, measure the width and the breadth of his shoulders, still wide, still solid. 

“Guy?” 

“Yes, my lady. Guy Crispin FitzGisborne. I am yours to command.” 

Her eyes found his. _Still blue. Still like glass._ “Guy?” 

“I am here.” 

“You are here?” She shot up from her chair. “You are here? How could you? Leave me in the dark? Not tell me it was you?” As he rose up in front of her, grinning, her right hand balled in a fist and she began to punch him in the shoulder. “I have grieved, you miserable toerag! Call you Sir!, my ass! You... you...I have cried and cried and cried and all this time, you were... laughing... at... me... Dammit! OW!” 

Her hip seized, having taken all the angry twisting it could handle. She found herself lifted and set back in her chair. “Where are your painkillers?” 

“THEY MAKE ME TRIPPY! I DON'T WANT THEM! OW! OW! OW!” She leaned back, new tears now, her hand on her hip, trying to massage it. 

She heard the intercom buzz. “Mr Fitz? Is Genevieve alright?” 

“No. Where is her purse?” 

“She keeps it in her right hand bottom drawer.”

“NOOO!!! I don't want them!” 

“She will need food to take them with.”

“NOOOOOOOO! OW!”

“Mallory brought some donuts and coffee for her. I have them.” 

“Bring them in. And some water.” 

The sound of the door opening and her desk drawer rolling back happened at the same time. Two powdered creme-filled donuts made their way to the table, along with strong, black coffee, that had just been poured. Two prescription bottles were set in front of her.

“Get me the Tylenol.” 

“No. This is too severe for Tylenol.” He lifted the two bottle and shook them. “Which one? Pick, or I shall pick for you. I choose both.” 

Genevieve knew this was a losing battle. “The one with the blue pills. They're a muscle relaxer.” A bottle of cold water was set next to her coffee and in a few seconds, two muscle relaxers were placed next to the bottle. “Only one! They make me trippy!” 

“Trippy. I love hearing you say that. The prescription says two. Take them both.” Guy turned to Genevieve's secretary. “Thank you. That will be all for now. Please have Ms. Oelle bring in the stock dossiers as well as the new projects, as I'm sure Ms. Robinson would like to see what you have been up to in her absence.” 

“You're an attorney?” Genevieve was in definite pain. 

“Law degrees from Cambridge and Harvard Law School. Several specialties, including but not limited to corporate and business law. I have a practice in London I am currently on hiatus with. There are thirty five solicitors practicing law, therefore my physical presence is not necessary, although I will have to show my face a few times a year. Otherwise, I am needed here.” 

Taking the meds, Genevieve watched as Guy put the pill bottle back in her purse and replaced it in the desk drawer. He stared for a moment at the filing cabinet behind her desk, looking into the trash can when he realized the top was missing a picture. “You did not have to throw the frame away.” 

“It was a Christmas gift from the Gator!” 

Guy nodded, looking at it sagely. “Well then, you did have to throw it away.” He looked up at her askance. “You dated her son exclusively and all she gifted you with was a 5 x 7 picture frame?”

“They were on sale at Rich's. Twenty bucks. And it originally had a picture of her and Lamar.” Guy made a face, much as if he had swallowed something sour. “Oh, she also gave me a Jelly Belly of the Month subscription for a year.” 

Guy threw his head back, beseeching the dropped tiles. “This man courted you for how long and his mother gave you a cheap picture frame of herself and a year's supply of Jelly Bellies?” 

“Yep.” 

He wanted to ask her where her brain was, how on earth could she possibly believe that this Lamar person loved her or was in some way good for her. But it was over and he wanted to move forward, move onward. “Genevieve-”

“In answer to your question,” she was leaning back, the weight on her right side, “I love you. I'm confused as all get out, but I love you and what are we going to do?” 

Guy returned to his knee in front of her, his eyes searching hers. “We have a lot to discuss. Us, your company, how I fit in your life now and how you fit in mine. There is your future, my future, your professional future, my professional future and I intend on addressing that. But we need to address your company's future first.” He held both hands tightly in his. “We are going to deal with this asinine attempt of a takeover and Friday afternoon, when it is all over, you and I will spend the weekend, somewhere romantic, somewhere of my choosing and we will discuss and plan our future-”

“Together. As long as we are together.” 

Guy nodded. “Good girl. Together.” 

The door opened, both Guy and Genevieve looking up. A man she did not recognize came in, followed by Val, carrying several folders. Guy stood, reaching out his right hand to be shook, only for the man to take it and pull him to him. He was not as tall as Guy, but there were similarities in the build and face. As he clasped Guy around the shoulders, he burst out, “Brother! I wanted to kick him down the shaft, but I felt that might be overkill for now!” Like Guy, his accent was definitely British. “But if he is to die, promise me I might have a hand in it, or at least get to watch!”

Guy ignored the barb. “Archer! Come meet Genevieve. Do not touch her. She wretched her hip and is tripping right now.” 

“Muscle relaxers or pain killers?” 

“Relaxer,” Genevieve was starting to feel a bit languid. At least her brain wasn't fuzzy. 

She found her hands grasped in the man's strong grip, which he brought to his lips. “My pleasure. Can I call you 'sister' yet?” 

“She and I have things to discuss, so that will wait until after the weekend. Can you sweep the room?” 

“Of course. I do a better job anyway!” Turning Genevieve loose, Archer began to circle the room, looking behind artwork, pictures.

“Archer is a securities specialist. He owns his own company, FitzGisborne Securities. I swear by him.” 

“AHA!” Archer held a small round disc aloft, plucked from God knows where. He kissed it loudly. “That's one, you fargin' piece of shite!” Looking around, he saw the door to the balcony and stepping outside, proceeded to give the bug a proper burial in the potted plant outside.

“I've been bugged?” 

Val nodded. “Yes. Cris... found several bugs when he arrived. We don't know who or what or why. Just that you have been listened to.” 

They waited for Archer to finish searching the room, finding a second one that blended in with the ceiling sprinkler, before he pronounced it clear and free of voyeuristic spyware. “Anything else, brother mine?” 

“I will be here going over things with Genevieve until lunch. She has physical therapy this afternoon. If you will stay with her and follow her home this evening, I will appreciate it. I have to be back in the office until late tonight. After today, we will spell each other off, making sure she is safe.” 

“Guy, what is going on?” 

“Your office was bugged and I have no idea how long it has been bugged. Either by Ficklebutte, whoever set Ficklebutte on you, or a competitor.”

“Ficklebutte isn't acting alone?” For some reason, this didn't surprise Genevieve, but it frightened her. 

“Oh no,” Archer was quite adamant. “Someone else has you in their sights, and he was simply the one caught holding the smoking gun.” 

“I wish to ensure you are not accosted by Ficklebutte again and that you are safe. I have not lived nine lives in 800 years to lose you or see something happen to you just as we are together again.” 

Genevieve was wide eyed, looking at both her office manager and Guy's brother. “You know about this?” 

“My brother has spoken of you since I can remember. Over thirty years!” Archer was rather matter-of-fact. He returned to the balcony and with his back to the office, proceeded to urinate in the pot of soil where he had buried the bugs. 

“GUY!” 

Guy was grimacing yet again. With another scowl, he turned Genevieve's chair, so her back was to the balcony. “I'll ensure he purchases another potted plant for you. At least the bugs will be destroyed.” He shook his head. “He has forever been trouble.” 

Genevieve tore her eyes from the disgusting escapade going on out on her balcony. “Val?” 

“I'm an angel, chickie-poo. This whole thing is pretty much my fault. And I dragged a few others into it.” She set the folders down and motioned to Archer, who had now returned to the office. “They need some time. She'll leave at three for physical therapy and I will meet you at her home. She'll be hurting tonight.” 

The two left, leaving Guy and Genevieve alone. Guy was holding Genevieve's hand, twisting her wedding band on her finger. 

“You're here... you're really here. I'm not dreaming.”

“Not dreaming. I am here.”

“I remember. You said we would fix this together. Figure out a way... you're really here.”

Guy started nodding. “I have figured out a way and yes I am really here nor will I leave when it is over.”

“Are we still married?” 

“As far as I am concerned? Yes. As far as the church and the law is concerned? No.” He lifted her hands and began to kiss the knuckles. “The man you married died over 800 years ago, when Nottingham Castle was blown up by Robin Hood.” 

Genevieve pulled his hand to her mouth. “Damn him! Damn him!” 

“Genevieve, do not blame him. 'Tis a long story, but we came to an accord and worked together for the betterment of Nottingham in the end.” He raised a finger to shush her. “Shh. I was dead before the castle came down and not by Hood's hand, nor any of his gang. Vaisey and Isabella murdered me while I was helping the people of Nottingham escape into the forest to flee the two of them. My forces helped protect the castle, while Tuck created enough explosives so that when the people escaped, Robin was able to light it, destroying Vaisey and my sister. Weeks before the end, Robin and I discovered we shared a half-brother, Archer, who helped us.”

“That Archer?” She pointed out the door where Archer and Val had just left through.

“Probably. Over the centuries, I have come across the obvious descendants or reincarnations of many people I knew in Nottingham. This Archer is every bit the same rogue.” He noticed Genevieve was starting to cry. “No, no tears. It was good death. An honorable one and the important thing is, Val pulled me from the rubble and offered me a chance to be with you again and to help you in your time of need. I jumped at it and here I am.” 

Genevieve found herself pulling together. She was tough, but at this moment, she felt like a weakling and told him so. “Friday and the weekend, we're going to discuss us and do what we have to do to put us back together, get married properly, right?” 

That smile, that smile she loved was back. “Yes, we are. Us.” 

She nodded. “Fine. That's settled. Now, about my company!” She screwed up her face in thought. “How many lives did you say, Guy?” 

Guy stood up and turned to the folders on the table. “I have not forgotten how tenacious you can be. Nine lives, to be exact. Once as a woman. That was horrific, but I managed to do something I would not have been able to do as a man. But we will discuss that this weekend. You will laugh. I might laugh. Maybe. But I have spent over 800 years building what I have now, so that I would be able to approach you with honor.” He began to separate, shift through them. “And with a great deal of power. I have always prized loyalty in a person and you have no idea what you taught me about such a thing. I thought I knew it all.” Having his folders moved about and arranged, he turned and faced Genevieve, arms across his chest, his backside resting on the tabletop. “In Nottingham, your dedication to your employees, their well-being and future taught me what honest, dedicated loyalty was truly about. Your generosity and humbleness has been my guideline for many a century.” 

“Guy, you're embarrassing me.” 

He dropped his head, before continuing. “You have options. You have several options and in my opinion, they are all win-win for you.” 

“I'm listening.” 

He began to tick off with his fingers. “A. You could give it to Ficklebutte. Tell him – here. Have it. 'Tis yours. Thank you for making it possible for me to run off with my husband of over 800 years and not worrying about my responsibilities. Pay your employees off. Sell everything. I will continue to stock George's office, set it up and get it running again. Marry me. Move with me to England, to one of my estates. You will be Lady FitzGisborne, among other titles. We move in to one of my three homes in England; be forewarned, my mother loves to shop and the two of you will more than likely have me broke in a year's time. I will keep you with children about you and you will never have to work again. Our family will be your job.”

Genevieve's grin was wry. “You're a Neanderthal if you think I'm going to go for that.” She snorted. “For someone who had lived many lives, you are still living in the 12th century!” 

Still smiling, he dropped his head. “You are quite correct. The man you originally married would fully believe that _should_ be the only choice you have, however, I believe I have evolved somewhat from your Neanderthal. And, suffice to say, it is not your only choice.” 

“Well, keep talking, bucko!” She spun her finger. “It's a good thing I've taken this muscle relaxer. I would be jumpin' your bones on this table, otherwise.”

Guy tipped his head in thought. “Although at some point, I intend to act on that desire, I do not believe this table is as sturdy as the one that used to be in Locksley Hall.” One eyebrow raised. “The original home no longer stands, of course, but I do still have the table. And the bed,” he leered. “To this day, I cannot sit at that table and not see you spread before me like the Last Supper!” 

“Ooh. You're not distracting me. Second option.” 

“Second option. Let him take the stock and oust you. Walk out with your employees. Thumb your nose. What does he have? His share of the stock and that is all. He cannot take your employees retirement packages. He doesn't have the furnishings, your contracts or contacts. He cannot force you from this office space. Change the name of your company, if slightly, continue business as usual. If you need a backer, I can be that backer.” 

Genevieve thought for a moment. “That is a viable option. Any others?” 

Guy nodded. “One more. I think you will like this one the best. You own 41% of your stock. As you've only in recently begun to release stock privately for your employees portfolio, your employees total brings you to 45%. You have it in your power to take their stock to use it, but I feel each and every one of them will back you openly in a stock holders fight and you will not be forced to resort to that..”

“Have they been asked?” 

He pushed a pile of folders down. “Yes, I have asked them. I met with them before Christmas. They are backing you 100%. Loyalty is an amazing thing. Ficklebutte,” he shoved a largish folder to the opposite side, “owns 45.5%. How he did this, when your stock release was a private investment? There was an inside trader who was tipped off about your impending release and made it quietly public so that a certain few, who knew about the stock, could purchase it quietly. This person notified Ficklebutte, who bought it up.” He could see Genevieve's mind working. “Inside trading is illegal in this country and is a prosecutable and jailable offense. I have someone working on finding out who the inside trader is, how they found out and who, if anyone, told them to be on the lookout for it. Millions of companies sell stock daily and to just accidentally find one small architectural firm releasing small amounts of private stock for employee retirement packages smells so rancid, I would swear Vaisey was in on it, except I know for a fact where his soul is and trust me, we will never have to worry about it in this lifetime.” 

Genevieve was thinking. “Don't you think he'll claim he just happened to come across my stock and purchased it on a lark?”

Guy was shaking his head. “Genevieve, he was purchasing large amounts within an hour. He was tipped off. Someone who knew you and knew you were planning on creating stock to put in your employees retirement packages notified a stockbroker with the power to make it public and informed him. He was waiting for that release.”

He could see Genevieve tightening up, a slow burn on her anger. “Do you know who this insider is or who tipped them off?” 

Guy inhaled for a few moments. “I have suspicions. But I would rather wait until I know for a fact before I tell you. I wish for you to have all the facts at your disposal.” 

Genevieve nodded. “I can accept that. Is Archer the one researching for you? Is he qualified?” 

His hand shot out, caressing her cheekbones, his thumb stroking lightly beneath her eye. “Archer also graduated from Cambridge and received a Masters at your Georgia Tech in electronic engineering. He knows more about computers than many government computer specialists. He has worked for Microsoft, Oracle, among others.” 

Her jaw dropped. “He's a hack!” 

“One of the best. I have learned to surround myself with perfection.”

“I'm not perfect.” She held both hands up, palms out. “No nail prints.” 

Guy leaned over, his mouth hovering over hers. “You are perfectly Genevieve.” He kissed her forehead, before kissing the tip of her nose. 

She closed her eyes, waiting for him to kiss her properly. When it didn't happened, she opened them to see him resting back on the table, arms crossed and watching her closely. “Guy, you know this is quite illegal.”

“Ask me if I care,” he smirked. “If you do, the answer will be no.” He shrugged elegantly. “Whoever came after you did not do so legally. Why should I give them thecourtesy of playing by the rules when they did not?” His gaze became hot. “No one plays dirtier than I do. I was taught by some of the most devious, criminal minds of antiquity. Trust me. Whoever has come after you, will know what hell is.”

For some reason, this bit of knowledge didn't bother her. “So, uhm... you'll know who sold my stock by Friday and have them and Ficklebutte jailed.” 

“No. Probably not. That is going to take a while.” 

“Well then, what do we have? You said this one-”

“Others, besides you and Ficklebutte, own 9.5% of your stock. Most of them,” and again he began to push around thin folders, “many of them, are amateur buyers, young buyers, with little money.” He stacked them up. “Strangely, they all have links to Ficklebutte. Grand total 1.5%. Typically, such small stockholders will let the stronger stockholders decide. They don't carry any weight.”

“Guy, you said this was a better deal. If the remaining shareholders are in thrall to him- ” 

“It is a better deal.” He was now holding the last dossier. It was good sized. “Eastbrook Financiers holds and maintains the remaining 7%. It is a family group of wealthy entrepreneurs. They have a long history of financing, backing and mentoring young companies, companies that are starting up. They are silent partners in several large corporations, including Slayman, Raschberg, and Ficklebutte. In short, they are a good friend and adviser to have in your corner. Their success rate is unrivaled.” He dropped the file on the table. “I have spoken with the CEO, who conferenced with the owner, and they have agreed to side with you. They feel that liquidating Robinson Architects would not be in the company's, nor their own, best interests, as it is not only solvent, but growing at a healthy rate. They have been watching the company closely and feel with you at the helm, the company will continue to grow at a strong, stable rate. You are an investment and they do not like losing their investments. With this stockholder voting with you, you out-vote Ficklebutte 52 to 47%. If you go with this option, and as your solicitor, I am suggesting highly you take it, you definitely will not lose your company on Friday, you will gain an influential backer, a powerful and persuasive ally, and if you allow me to continue my investigation, we will get to the bottom of this and root out who is trying to destroy you and put you permanently in the poorhouse. Chances are very good that Ficklebutte will end up in jail and you will be allowed to take back your stock, as it was sold illegally.”

“Guy?” Genevieve was bouncing. “Who is this wonderful person? I'm going to need to thank them and a fruit basket isn't going to do it! Really! Who is it? Who owns Eastbrook Financiers?” 

“Who owns Eastbrook Financiers?” With an evil, evil smile, he leaned forward, his lips grazing her ear. She felt him breathe in. And when he spoke, she felt the brush of his lips against her. “Why, I do.”

[](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/ZeeDippyVessel/media/Fic%20Artwork/36514344356_zpsefa851ad.jpg.html)

Jollytr 

_**~~~***~~~** _

_**Said, "Why you always running in place?"** _

_**~~~***~~~** _

A/N – I have included, alluded to, or commented on several things that are idiocentric and common knowledge to someone who has lived in Atlanta for a long time. They would include:

1) _**Problems with specific construction sites during the Atlanta Olympics in 1996.** _

For the Atlanta Olympics, the Committee commissioned dorms to be built for the athletes on the Georgia Tech Campus. These dorms would be then used after the Olympics as regular college dorms for both Georgia Tech and Georgia State University. (The 2 colleges are a few miles apart and at the time GSU – my Alma mater – was considered a commuter college, as there were no housing facilities on its very urban campus.) It was discovered after the multi-storied buildings were built that a mistake was made over the ability of the soil to support the weight and as a result, 2 of the buildings sank 9 inches more than expected. There was no structural damage, but it was still nerve-racking for many and a massive PR headache for both the Olympic Committee and the engineering and construction firm that was in charge of the project.

 

2) _ **The Spaghetti Bowl.** _ The interchange for I285/Perimeter and I85 in the northeast quadrant of Atlanta. Atlanta is a big city, folks. It encompasses 11 counties and has 5 major interstates connecting, joining, running side by side, on top, under and around the two center counties, with 3 off shoot/by-passes out the outer edges. It's a mess. This particular interchange has been dubbed 'The Spaghetti Bowl' due to the fact that not only is it the interchange for the two highways, but in the middle of it, there are 5 major roads in the vicinity that need turn-offs and exits and in order for it to work, areal pictures of it – well, it looks like a spaghetti bowl. 

 

3) _ **Malfunction Junction.** _ As you continue around I285, over the top-end, you will reach the I75/I285 interchange in the northwest quadrant of Atlanta. For some odd reason, this interchange is the spot that if your car is going to break down – this is where it will break down. And always during rush hour, preferably the morning. It's a fact. Pity the Cobb County Commuters. Every morning. 

 

4) _ **Phipps Plaza.** _ \- If you're incredibly wealthy, this is where you shop. I window shopped there once and felt like I couldn't even afford to do that! Never again. I came out to my car – which I parked way way out because I felt inferior to the Mercedes and Jaguars and European sports cars whose names I don't remember in the parking lot. This is a place where you can buy twin sheets on the bargain table for $300.00. Too rich for my taste! 

Gentle reminder: As I stated early on, despite all of the research I have done for this fic, the Stock Exchange went over my head. I am sure I have made mistakes. They are mine, I embrace them, and I don't really care to be corrected. It's not going to change a thing.


	38. 37 - For where thou goests

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N - I just want to take a moment and thank all who are reading and all who have left Kudos and comments. Thank you, so much!

_**Manna from Heaven** _

_**Chapter 37** _

_**For where thou goest...** _

After Guy's appearance that morning, Genevieve's week seemed to breeze by. Physical therapy on Monday, as Val predicted, had been painful. Her physical therapist was – in Genevieve's eyes – an unfrocked Marine – who had great hands and looked like Thor, but he had the bedside manner of... well... an unfrocked Marine. Halfway through her session, she looked up to see Guy there, watching carefully.

“Boyfriend?” He nodded the knight over. 

“I want to know what to do the next time she wrenches that hip or anything else.” Guy shrugged. “She does not like drugs.” 

“She doesn't like much of anything!” 

When the session was over, Guy took her to an early dinner and noticed she was moving slowly. “How was everything? Did everything hold up well?” 

Genevieve was digging into a Cobb Salad. She was starving, but inactivity was making her soft. She asked Thor about resuming her exercise regime and his epithets made her ears turn red. “They were running like a well-oiled machine.” She made a moue. “They didn't need me at all. I wasn't missed an inch.” 

She found her right hand caught in a tight grasp. “Yes, they did. They missed you. They need you.” Guy dropped it and returned to his broiled salmon. “You would not believe how loyal they are to you. Val has stated many times you are the heart and soul of your company. They are ready to go to battle with you, as am I.”

“Well,” she inspected the green leaves on her fork. _Nope! Not as appetizing as Guy's salmon!_ “Here's to hoping it's a short battle!” She pointed at Guy with the salad-laden fork. “And bloody!” 

That brought a chuckle. “You are still the tigress I remember. Once my CEO arrives, it should be over very quickly.”

“You're sure your CEO won't decide to come off as a dark horse and side against me?” 

Guy stared at her for a long time. “No. I know for a fact that will not happen and even if it did, as owner, I can override immediately. I will, as you say, pull rank. Besides, she knows the stakes and the consequences if she pulls that stunt.” He inspected the bit of salmon on his fork as if it held all the answers to the questions of the universe. “She very much likes her London Townhouse and would rather die than be forced to relocate to the country permanently. She will do as I tell her to.” The salmon went in his mouth.

“A woman?” Genevieve was smiling. “Your CEO is a woman?” 

“Yes, and you will like her very much.” He focused back on his dish. “She is looking forward to meeting you.” 

“Well then,” Genevieve attempted to concentrate on her salad, “the feeling is mutual.” 

The rest of the meal, the two spent talking about their day, her return, Guy's assuming control of a small law firm. George was weighing the possibility of not completely retiring; instead maintaining a lighter case-load. There was talk of expanding the office, adding more attorneys, specialties. What happened to Genevieve shouldn't have happened. All in all, it was a calming experience; two people simply sharing their day, winding down. 

Guy walked her down to parking garage, beneath the building, making sure she was well bundled against the February wind before settling her back in her car. The sky was heavy and smelled of cold rain. “You maybe want to come over to my place for coffee?” She gave him her best sexy look. “After dinner drinks?” Much to her embarrassment, he shook his head no. 

“If I kiss you, I will not stop. We will miss your Friday appointment. Think of me, but do not touch yourself.” Pressing two fingers to his lips, he kissed them, before pressing them to Genevieve's. “I have work to do, things to start wrapping up and a case that is going to try my patience. We will Skype tonight.” He stepped back and shut the door. Putting his hands in his pockets as she backed out and went down the ramp, he watched as she made the first turn, before pulling out his phone and speed-dialing. “She has left for home. Make sure she arrives safely and let me know when she does.” Ending the call, he listened for a second car engine, aware of when the dark Mercedes coasting around him. A moment later, his phone beeped. 

_Skype? You've mastered that as well? Aren't you a Contemporary Man! Is that Archer or Val following me?_

Rather than text, he called, knowing Genevieve's blue tooth and car were hands free. “It is Archer and Val is waiting at your home or will be. Do not text and drive. I will talk to you tonight.” He hung up before whispering, “I love you.” 

And praying with all of his soul that she was repeating the sentiment.

_**~~~***~~~** _

Tuesday morning Genevieve arrived in the office with a bedraggled, black kitten, a screaming, too young thing that she found in the bushes outside her condo. It had been out in the elements for days, was flea-ridden and starving. Much to the ire of her bodyguard, she changed clothes and with Val and Archer in tow, challenged the elements again, screaming black beastlet locked in her bathroom. She made her way to the closest Wal-Mart and bought everything from kitten food, to kitten milk, bottles, flea treatment, food dishes, litter box, carrier, kitten toys...

“Boss, we have a problem.” 

Guy's heart clutched. “What do you mean? You said she-” 

“She has obtained a kitten. I assume it's a kitten as she is at the store buying kitten paraphernalia. It looks like a rat to me.”

“Damn! I hate cats!” 

“Do you wish for me to dispose of it?” 

He could hear Guy hissing on the other end of the line. “No. I can... deal... with a cat.” 

Needless to say, Guy had to act surprised to find himself Skyping with Genevieve from her bathroom, while she bathed and checked the little black rat for fleas and ticks. Using the blow dryer on low, she dried it, revealing an inky black coat. 

“I suppose you wish to keep it?” 

“Well, of course I'm going to keep her!” Genevieve's laptop was open on the toilet lid. She sat in the floor, with the kitten in her lap. As soon as it was sufficiently dried, she picked up the small bottle with the warm kitten milk and smiled as the kitten went from screaming indignantly for being given a bath to purring for being fed. “I couldn't leave Maleficent out there and I'm not going to go through all this and then find her a home. Unless,” a horrible thought occurred to her, “unless, you are allergic.” She looked into the screen, where Guy could be seen, shirtless, laying on his side in the bed. 

The thought crossed his mind to lie. That would fix the problem, but past experience had shown that would come back to bit him. “No. I am not allergic. I am simply not fond of cats.” The poor baby was filling up fast and becoming lethargic. “You have rescued animals before?” 

“Guy, I was raised on a farm.” She shifted her weight, the position uncomfortable. “I've helped birth colts and lambs and yes I've rescued a few homeless strays.” She repositioned Maleficent, who was now sleeping contentedly. “I rescued an orphaned fox once. Cried for days when Grandma made me take him to the sanctuary. If Maleficent will be a problem, I'll check and see if Grandma needs another mouser in her barn.”

“What is it with you and black kittens named 'Maleficent'?” Guy was scowling in the half-light. “No. Keep the furry little beast. However, when we marry, it is not allowed in our bedroom.” He shifted closer, trying to look at her. “My mother's cat climbed into my box springs when I was a boy. Took a catnip mouse with her. Damn thing cried all night and would not come out.” He pinched his nose. “I ended up in a guest room that night. Damned uncomfortable.”

So Maleficent was granted clemency and was brought to the office, where several underlings took turns feeding her and a make-shift kitty area was made in the women's employee bathroom. 

And much love and spoiling was given.

The week fell into a sweet routine. The day would begin with Guy waiting for her with her coffee and the two would enjoy five to ten minutes of peaceful morning time. She shared lunch with Val, except on Wednesday, when Guy joined them at the Legal Bagel for Wednesday Potato Soup. Tuesday afternoon was spent at the vet's office, where Maleficent was pronounced to be, at best, five weeks old and very lucky and where Genevieve's body guard worked hard to remain unseen. 

Thursday afternoon was physical therapy. 

There was dinner every evening with Guy, who continued to press kissed fingertips to her lips, instructing her not to touch herself and Skyping in the later evening with her. 

“Go to sleep,” she was instructed Thursday night. “Why are you not asleep?” 

“Waiting for you to ping me.” 

“Ping, PM, Twittering.” The voice was whimsical. “Dashboard, wall. All that you told me that I did not understand in Nottingham now makes such sense. Little John would not be able to breathe. Much,” he continued with a smile, “would walk about with his mouth agape staring at the skyscrapers.” 

Maleficent was curled up under Genevieve's hand, purring in contentment. “What happened to them?” she asked quietly. “What happened to you?” 

Guy looked at her for a minute. “I have booked a suite at the Marriott, for the entire weekend. Make sure you pack clothing for dinner on Friday and work on Monday. You will not be going home. Do you have a sitter for your baby?” Guy had taken to calling Maleficent 'Genevieve's baby'. 

“I had to draw a name from the bowl.” Maleficent had become the Robinson Architects personal mascot. _Small, scrappy, loud_. “Bradley won.” 

Unbeknownst to Genevieve, when Guy investigated her company, his and his CEO's only concern _was_ Bradley. Many companies would have abandoned the man, turned him lose to fend for himself, but Genevieve's belief in him was astounding and he was making positive steps forward as a result. 

_Just like she believed in me, so many years ago. What would have happened had she not believed in me? What would have happened when I died that first time?_

Guy didn't want to think of that. He was just simply grateful she had believed in him and had refused to judge him. 

_Loyalty. Such a small, but powerful thing._

“Big day tomorrow.” Again the fingertips went from his lips to the screen. “Get some rest.”

Genevieve mimicked the gesture. “I'm tired of this fingertips stuff. I can't wait to kiss you for real.” 

“Oh, my lady,” Guy's finger was on the disconnect. “Come this time tomorrow evening, my lips will have kissed every inch of your body and then some and you will lie beneath me, limp and exhausted.” 

The screen went dark.

_**~~~***~~~** _

Friday dawned cloudy, cold and crisp. She didn't complain at the dreariness, because she knew the colder February was, the earlier spring would come! Genevieve was dressed in a softly tailored black pants suit, the blouse femininely ruffled and lace peaking out at the wrists reaching down to cover her knuckles. Guy met her in the foyer, her coffee in one hand, his cell phone in the other. Swapping the coffee for her cat carrier, he snarled at the one lone woman who started to step into the elevator with them, making sure the two were alone. He checked the message coming in on his cell phone before the doors shut, cutting the connection temporarily. “Are you prepared?”

“As ready as I'll ever be. No matter what, I'm walking out in control and still owning my company and Ficklebutte won't be.” 

“Exactly. No matter what, no matter what he says or implies, you have an unbeatable ace up your sleeve.” 

“And that would be my wonderful, gorgeous, handsome, sexy lawyer.” 

“You are a lucky woman, Genevieve Faith Robinson.” 

“Damn straight and you're lucky too to have an amazing person like me!” 

The elevator approached Genevieve's floor. “Your unbeatable ace is stuck in traffic, but should be here within ten minutes. If push comes to shove, I can finish this quickly, but I would hate to ruin your fun. How good are you at stalling?” 

“Am I allowed to toy with my food?” 

Guy's responding laugh was evil. The car was closing in on their destination. “How can I say no, when you ask so prettily? One warning. I received word early this morning that this is not the first time Ficklebutte has put a smaller potential competitor out of business, by buying up their stock and ousting them. He has done it several times; however never has he put a no-work clause in the contracts. Only you.” He looked down at her, eyes dark. “He is not used to losing and he will not behave well when you do not roll over and give up, as the others did. There will be ugly repercussions and I do not doubt for a moment today will not be the end of him nor is he acting alone.” They reached her floor and Guy turned to face the doors. “At the very least, I am not done with him or whoever is backing him.” 

“Guy, that's an expensive way to force someone out of business.” 

“He gets their contact list. Fewer people bidding against him, plus their added clientele. It has been lucrative for him.” He pressed his face to hers. “Someone has it out for you, my lady. Someone wants to see you brought so low, you never get out of the gutter. I will find that person and I will destroy them.” He sniffed once, taking in the delicate perfume she wore before standing tall and waiting for the doors to open.

They stepped off the elevator, only to run headlong into Ficklebutte. 

Maleficent yowled and hissed. 

“Look. Even the kitten knows a bad thing when she sees it!” Val serenely came around the corner and took the pet carrier from Guy. “Ms. Robinson. Mr. FitzGisborne. There are donuts in the break room.” She smiled at Ficklebutte. “Employees and friends only. That means, not you.” 

Ficklebutte smiled. “I am going to enjoy firing your old, skinny ass, Ms. Oelle.” 

“I am sure it is your most beloved fantasy.” She continued walking, Maleficent howling the entire time. “Keep dreaming.” She disappeared around the corner.

Ficklebutte turned to Genevieve, ignoring the extremely tall man at her side. “We can make this easy and you can finish this now.” 

“No.” Genevieve checked her watch. “Our meeting starts in ten minutes and I will finish you off then.” She nodded to Guy. “I will be in my office, darling. You are welcome to join me.” 

Guy felt a restraining hand at his elbow and watched Genevieve has she turned the corner, the sound of her voice greeting her secretary. He looked down at the hand. “You will turn loose of me now, or you will leave this place in a body bag.” 

“Is that a threat, FitzGisborne?” 

“'Tis a promise.”

Ficklebutte removed his hand slowly. “I cannot believe you are encouraging this madness. She has no chance of coming out on top of this!” He thrust a finger in Guy's face. “I've searched you on the internet. You take very good care of your clients and have steered many of them from stupidity. You,” he stabbed the finger, almost poking him in the nose, “should have taken better care of her!” 

When the man stabbed at him a second time, he found his finger caught in a painfully, tight grasp. Guy bent over, so closely, Ficklebutte could smell the coffee on his breath. “I have been watching and taking care of her for much longer than you could ever possibly imagine. The only stupidity in this room is yours. Obviously, you have not researched deeply or far. Had you done so, you would not be here in the midst of your folly. I could finish this off now for you, but I will not deny Genevieve her moment to lay you low! I will enjoy watching it.” And with that, Guy turned him loose, turned his back. The man's attitude guaranteed the meeting would not follow any sort of professionalism at all. Restraining his temper, Guy headed to Genevieve's office. 

To find her pacing madly.

_**~~~***~~~** _

The meeting took place in Genevieve's office. Rather than try to crowd everyone in the large conference room, Guy had spent the previous two weeks obtaining affidavits from each employee, stating their affirmation and allowing Genevieve to use their stock in the voting process. Genevieve sat at the head of the table, turning her pen bottom to top in what appeared to be representation of nervousness or sheer boredom. Guy sat to her right, his briefcase open on the table, Ficklebutte and his lawyer at the opposite end.

Outside the office, every employee was gathered at the door or at the secretary's desk. Genevieve's intercom was on, so most were able to hear.

“Have they started?” 

“SHHHH! If we can hear them, they can hear us!” 

“SHHH!” 

Briefcases were open on the table, Guy's pointed away from Ficklebutte and his attorney. Using eye contact to get her attention, Genevieve saw the red flashing light of the micro tape recorder standing microphone up in the side pocket, recording every word. 

“Genevieve,” the man began, in complete exasperation, “why are you doing this? Even with your employees backing, you are still a half a percent behind.” 

“More so, truthfully.” Ficklebutte's attorney was a weasely, rat-faced man, whose comb-over was pathetic. He pulled out several folders. “We have the backing of several other stockholders, bringing my client's share to 46.5%, which is more than your 45%.” 

“I have also been in touch with the CEO of Eastbrook Financiers who has 7% stock in Robinson Architects.” The man was positively gloating. “Elyana has actually shown an interest in being here for this, although I told her it was not necessary.” He grinned at Genevieve, and not nicely. “She stated she would cast her vote personally.”

“First name basis?” Guy's eyebrow rose, as his voice dropped, the deep baritone rumbling.

“Eastbrook has been a large shareholder and financial backer for Slayman, Raschberg, and Ficklebutte for over two decades. She is a shrewd businesswoman and very intelligent.” Guy's left hand was under the table, resting on Genevieve's knee. He squeezed it reassuringly. “She, however, should arrive shortly and when she does,” he sneered, “you can kiss your company goodbye.” 

“I don't think so.” 

Ficklebutte leaned towards his attorney. “Poor delusional child.” 

“Delusional? Look who's talking!” Despite telling everyone in the office to hush, Genevieve's secretary and receptionist, Emily, was clearly heard over the intercom.

Ficklebutte's smile fell. 

Under the table, Guy's finger spun. _Start stalling._

Genevieve smiled benignly. “I believe you have short-changed yourself, Al. Can I call you Al? I'm not the first person you've done this to, am I, Al? No, on second thought, I'll stick with Mr. Ficklebutte. I'll show you the same courtesy I'm demanding you show me, professionally. Besides, I wouldn't want you to think that somewhere down the line we can be pals or friends even. You're definitely not someone I want to sit next to at a dinner. As for the current project on the table, I have several options, not just the one. Shall we discuss them?” 

Ficklebutte leaned back in his chair, clicking the pen in his hand. “Oh, I have a few minutes to waste. You're only putting off the inevitable. Please,” he spread both hands, palm up, still holding the pen in one, “entertain me.” 

The small, malicious smiles Guy and Genevieve shared were not lost on him. For a brief second, he felt as if someone had walked over his grave. 

“You are under the unrealistic and sadly confused misconception that I have one option and only have one option. I do not. I have several. Four, to be exact, that I wish to discuss.”

“Really?” Ficklebutte's attorney addressed Guy. “And what would these four options be? Did you tell her she had four options?” 

“I told her she had three.” Guy leaned back, his hands still below Ficklebutte and his lawyer's field of range. “I am dying to hear the fourth she has come up with.” He nodded to Ficklebutte. “She is quite creative and full of ideas.” 

Spinning fingers. _Keep stalling._

“Well, of course, there is the obvious first option,” she began brightly, “I acquiesces, admit defeat, the one you have given me. You know the old 'Oh dear God, I'm bought out, whatever will I do?' joke and I sign your disgusting, unethical contract and use the funds you will give me to pay off my employees for the next six months and to finish up the current projects. I lose my company, you liquidate it, take the stock out of my employees' retirement packages and use it to pay off the little trolls you've hired to help you out. I either crawl into a hole or I get the joy of changing careers or better, as you offered on Monday, I get to pour your coffee and perhaps rub your feet at the end of the day.” 

Genevieve's attorney growled in displeasure.

“Or I find a wealthy, older, sugar-daddy, become kept or move back to the farm and become a country hick redneck.”

Guy's eye roll and green complexioned gag was lost on the men at the end of the table, but Genevieve had a difficult time keeping a straight face.

“I have offered you a respectable place in my company, Genevieve,” Ficklebutte reminded her. “Granted, you will never hold the leadership reins or the respect of the architectural community that you think you do now, nor will you attempt to travel in the social circles you have in the past, but you will have a decent, if tolerable job.” The man was relaxed in his chair, the thing tipping precariously to the back and completely unaware that he had Guy's full attention and scrutiny. “I am not completely heartless.”

“Could have fooled me.” Genevieve was beginning to smile. 

“Whether you come to work for me or not, Genevieve, I'm sure you could find something to do or someone who will take care of you.” His smile was virulent. “I understand your family are farmers and raise... pigs... or something. Perhaps your calling is truly to help your family.” 

Genevieve refused to take the bait. “I believe I told you to call me Ms. Robinson. You will never earn the right to be on such familiar terms, Mr. Ficklebutte.” The man nodded, the smile oily. “As you can imagine, I find this option to be demoralizing and meant to lay me low and to suck the soul from my very being. I cannot begin to imagine the amount of hate you must harbor within yourself to be such a cold-hearted individual. I pity your wife.” 

“Pity his mistress,” Guy whispered. 

“Ew.” 

Ficklebutte's smile was slimy. It was on his lips that it was obvious her attorney was enjoying her attentions. _Perhaps, he would put her up as his mistress for a time. Rumor had it they were spending an enormous amount of time together._

But some things were better left unsaid. 

Ficklebutte fished a stone from his pocket and began to toss it in the air, watching it as it went up and down. “Surely you do not believe you have other options.” 

Guy's finger was continuing to spin. _Keep at it._ He was engrossed in the screen of his cellphone.

“Yes, there are three other options, Mr. Ficklebutte.” She smiled brightly. “At the very least.”

“Al,” his attorney was getting antsy. “I do not have all day for her to toy with us and waste our time. She is simply putting off the inevitable.”

“Oh, I think you have as long and as much time as I want to take,” Genevieve retorted. “Because these options get better and better.” She returned her attention to the man at the opposing end of the table. “For me, that is. Not for your client. You've not had a takeover fight back before, have you?” Genevieve was obviously enjoying watching the man puff up in fury. “Needless to say, we will not be taking that option, so put that piece of paper away. I will not be signing it and you cannot force me to sign it. As you say, at this moment, you appear to have more stock in my company that I and my employees together. Fine. The second option is I tell you to stick it where the sun don't shine!” 

“Yeah!” Marquis was heard loud and clear over the intercom. “You go, girlfriend!” 

“Must we listen to this... unprofessionalism?” Ficklebutte's attorney was quickly growing weary of Genevieve's rather exuberant and vocal staff.

“We're stockholders too, you little pipsqueak!” 

“You're going to complain about our unprofessionalism, when you represent a panty-wipe?” 

“Douche-canoe!” 

Guy was staring out the window and shaking his head.

Genevieve, on the other hand, was smiling like a five year old, sitting alone in front of an over-loaded Christmas tree. It was clear to all in the room that Genevieve Faith Robinson was having the time of her life. “The next option is you take my stock and go. Fine. Take it. Oust me. Bye. What you don't get is any of the options in the contract. You don't pay me anything, you simply have the stock. What ousting me does not accomplish is me leaving the field, losing anything except the name 'Robinson Architects.' It doesn't stop me from working in the field for thirty years – thirty years, come on, Ficklebutte! Thirty years! Who in their right mind would do that? Anywhere in the North America, South America, Europe, England?” She now addressed the man sitting next to her, gesturing wildly. “England! If he had his way, I would not even be able to work in England!” 

“That would be such a pity.” Guy's voice was dry. “Two of my estates need upgrades.”

Genevieve continued. “But by me not signing and forcing your hand, it doesn't stop me from changing the name, starting again, keeping my office, keeping the bank account, keeping my contacts, keeping my employees, keeping the retirement packages less the stock. I take a step back and move forward. You walk out in the same position you walked in with. I go down to the Business Office of the County Commission and get a new license – Genevieve Robinson Architects - and after lunch, it's business as usual. You refund your trolls out of your own money. ” She propped her elbows on the table, folded her hands and cupped her chin on the back of her knuckles. “Did Mr. Ficklebutte, by chance,” she pointed this question to his attorney, “promise in writing to refund other stockholders monetarily?” Taking in the withering looks of both opposing attorney and Ficklebutte, Genevieve's smile became positively snake-like. “Oh dear! You are in a pickle, aren't you?” She addressed her attorney. “Do you think my employees could sue to ensure he reimburses them as well?” 

Ficklebutte and his attorney exchanged nervous glances; Guy realizing clearly that Genevieve had hit a nerve. Having to personally reimburse all former stockholders, not just the few who had invested at his request, would be an expensive venture, especially if the company simply renamed itself and continued on. This was not going as planned. 

“I do believe I could look into that. Pro Bono, of course.” 

“Of course.” She addressed the two men at the end of the table. “So, oust me, daddy-o, take your stock and stick it where the sun don't shine. I change my name, move on, business as usual.” 

“You would need quite a bit of cash in order to do that, Ms. Robinson.” 

“Yes, I would.” Genevieve was positively cheerful. “I would probably sue you as well, for my stock, as you're reimbursing people-”

“Count on it, Genevieve.” 

“-or either need to tighten my belt and go on a business diet or find a wealthy backer.” She tapped her lip thoughtfully. “Cris,” she addressed her attorney by his professional given name, “how hard would it be for me to find a wealthy backer?” 

Before Guy could respond, Ficklebutte leaned forward. “Genevieve, I have been around a long time. People respect my opinion and ask my advice. I intend to give it. You will lose a lot of financial backing as well as opportunities when I oust you. You'll need a lot of money to stay afloat.” 

“I have a backer.” 

Ficklebutte almost dropped the stone – which Genevieve could now see wasn't a stone at all, but a multi-sided Dungeons and Dragons Die. “You have a backer?” With a hostile glare, his gaze fell on Guy.

“Yes. I have a backer. A rather wealthy backer.” 

“He would need to be wealthy.” 

“I didn't realize you played D&D, Ficklebutte.” 

“It's been awhile.” 

“Really.” Genevieve's voice dropped an octave, the sensuous, but dangerous tone of it, causing the hair on Guy's arm to stand up. “When was the last time you were in... the dungeon?”

Guy's finger slowed. 

“The... the what?” Ficklebutte's lawyer was now dripping sweat, the hair across his bald pate glistening. Obviously, he was not a geek and the conversation was clearly sailing over his head.

Genevieve propped her chin in the cup of her hand and never stopped smiling. “I'll bet you loved being flogged.” 

“What?” 

“You know... the game. Dungeons and Dragons.” 

It took a moment for the man to slow his heart down. “It's been a... long time. College.” For a few moments, he stared at her, lost in an ancient memory. Shaking his head, he threw off the mental image she had just presented to him, furious at allowing her to distract him from his goal. “What does this have to do with the business at hand? Bottom line is, even if you decided to just change your name, I would make sure no business came your way and whatever business name you decided to call yourself, would simply dry up. It's finished.” 

“I play Dungeons and Dragons!” Marquis piped up over the intercom. “I'll make you my bitch!” 

Ficklebutte's attorney turned green and Genevieve blushed, continuing on. “Actually, I have decided not to take that option either. Of course, there is the third option.”

“Would this be the option,” the blinking light on Guy's phone was going off. He brushed the screen and smiled. “where you tell me the option we didn't discuss?” Beneath the table, he gave her the thumbs up sign. _His CEO was in the building._

“Certainly! The third option, which my attorney did not discuss with me, is the option where my backer, who is very wealthy, simply buys you out. He buys up your stock, your trolls' stock and we all go on our merry way.” 

“He would need a lot of money to do that, Ms. Robinson.” 

“I think he has it.” 

“I see you with an allowance,” Guy whispered. 

Ficklebutte either didn't hear or ignore the inappropriate discussion going on at the opposite end of the table. “I don't believe I'll allow your backer to buy me out. The goal, Ms. Robinson, is to put you out of business and no longer in charge or in a place to make decisions in any architectural firm.”

“I know that! I knew you wouldn't buy that option for a moment. Which is why, I have decided on the fourth option.” 

“And that would be?” He threw his hands in the hair, obviously frustrated and at the end of his rope. “Genevieve! Sign the damn paper and let that man at your side be your provider. He is obviously taken with you. There is no shame in it! I'm sure he'll keep you happy and taken care of you for a long, long time.” 

Guy reached into his open briefcase and removed the running tape recorder from it, setting it on the table. “Surely, you are not only threatening my client's business with professional slander if she doesn't accept your hostile take-over, but are actually suggesting she take up prostitution to make ends meet?” Ficklebutte started to open his mouth, pointing at the tape recorder, but Guy held him off. “All business meetings, even yours, are tape recorded. You know this. I am willing to bet your own attorney has one in his briefcase, in order to type up terms properly. I'm sure Ms. Robinson, who, yes, has bountiful charms, but the discussion of them has no place in the workplace, much less at this meeting, has tape recorded or digitally recorded many a meeting in order to keep clients needs in the forefront and fresh. Not to mention, you are well aware the intercom is on and her employees are listening. You have not complained yet.”

“Damn straight, we've been listening!” 

“What a jerk!” 

“I'm still gonna make Ficklebutte my Fickle-bitch!” 

Guy leaned over to Genevieve. “Did you hire any adults?” 

She shook her head and mouthed, _'Nooooo.'_ Again, she focused her attention on Ficklebutte. “That is the third option, but again I'm rather fond and leaning towards the fourth option.” 

“And that would be?” Ficklebutte was bored and his attorney was pinching his nose in ire.

“The fourth option is somehow, I manage to obtain more stock shares than you and you leave with your tail tucked between your legs.”

Both Ficklebutte and his attorney began to smirk. “Ms. Robinson, you obviously cannot add-”

“Ms. Robinson?” The voice crackled over the intercom, the sound of many bodies flying away from the door, “There is a Lady Elyana-”

“Just read the card, darling.” The voice was cultured, speaking the Queen's English and oozed old money and an older pedigree.

“All of it?” 

“Yes, dear.” 

“Lady Elyana of Eastbrook, CEO of Eastbrook Financiers, Locksley Lace and Torksey Bicycles, Baroness of Torksey and Duchess of Gev...Gev.. I'm sorry, my French isn't very good.” 

“That is fine, darling. I have a difficult time with them as well.” 

“That's a lot of titles, Mr. FitzGisborne,” Genevieve whispered, taking advantage of Ficklebutte's distraction. 

“She enjoys each and every one of them.” 

“She is the CEO of Eastbrook Financiers.” 

“Send her in.”

Genevieve's nemesis opened the door, to escort a rather stately woman into her office. She was impeccably dressed, in a winter white Armani suit, heels that Genevieve immediately coveted and that the sight of made her left side screech in imagined pain. She was wrapped in a cream fox fur that Genevieve just knew several of her anti-fur employees would be howling about. Ficklebutte started to shut the door behind him, but the woman shook her head. “I believe every single employee Ms. Robinson employs is standing in the receiving area. Leave it be so they can hear the proceedings.” She turned to Genevieve. “I apologize. It was not my intention to usurp your position.” 

“That's fine. They are invested as well. Would you like to take a seat?” Genevieve motioned to the conference table. 

Rather than take a side, Elyana took a chair in the middle of the table, her leather briefcase placed on the wood. She waited until Ficklebutte helped her out of her fur stole, laying it in the empty chair. Her fingernails were perfectly manicured, a deep burgundy red, which made Genevieve curl her Caribbean Sea Teal toenails in her flats. As she opened and then removed files from her briefcase and sorting through them, she continued, “I understand you wish for me to either sign this affidavit, allowing you to use my shares in the ousting process,” she picked up a contract from a file and dropped it in front of her, “or vote with you, resulting in the same outcome, however, I have several questions before I do that. The owner of our firm as well has several questions.” She then pulled out a small case and put on a pair of rhinestone reading glasses. 

Genevieve was willing to bet the rhinestones were really diamonds. 

Ficklebutte blinked. This was a surprise. “Surely, you have my report to you as well as the authority-”

“Oh, yes, I do have the power, but in this particular case, I must answer to the owner, as well.” She turned to Genevieve, looking at her over the reading glasses. “My son is very proactive about researching not only for companies we invest in, but continually, so we do not lose money in case the company folds. But we do enjoy investing in young companies with a great potential of growth. As you know, we have a history of aiding both monetarily, as well as in advising at times, as we prefer to see a company thrive, rather than fail. In this case, we have several concerns. Selling out and liquidating is not something we have done in the past, nor do we condone.” 

“We have such a long well-working relationship, Elyana.” Ficklebutte interrupted. “Have I ever given you reason to distrust my findings? As I have stated, there are several concer-” 

“Not until you contacted me with this.” She pulled out another folder, with what appeared to be the printout of an email paper clipped to the front. “I found it strange that you sent me an email two years ago, telling me of a wonderful potential investment, a small, but solid architectural firm that was selling stock on the stock exchange. I did not say anything at the time, but we had already become aware of the Robinson Architects stock release. Gui,” she pronounced Guy in the old French way, “requested that I research the company and if it was sound, to begin purchasing and investing. I had already received reports,” she pulled another folder, this one rather full, “projecting good things for this company. The only draw-back was a single employee, who was a War Veteran with a serious case of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and a history in past employment of problems, as well as drug problem issues. His hiring raised eyebrows with my board, but by all reports, he appears to have done well and has been unusually supported in the family-type atmosphere of this company.” She looked at Genevieve over his glasses. “I understand recent events caused him to enter a reputable and outstanding rehabilitation program that he recently successfully completed and the staff here is providing strong support. The first step to healing is admiting one has a problem. To dissolve and rip apart this support system would be seriously detrimental to him.”

“What did she say?” The hissing was moving about in the reception area. 

“She said we're good for Bradley! Be quiet!” 

“Love you, Bradley!” 

“You too.” 

“How old are your employees, Genevieve?” Guy was focusing on something in his briefcase.

“Average age, twelve,” she nodded and winked. “You should see what we do with Legos on Fridays, if they earn it!” 

Ficklebutt was losing ground with this obnoxious young woman and he was ready to put an end to this charade of a business meeting. “Elyana, no one is saying they cannot continue to be emotionally supportive. They can _do that on their own time_ ,” Ficklebutte hissed between clenched teeth. “But the bottom line-”

“With Gui's consent,” Elyana continued as if Ficklebutte hadn't spoken, “we did invest, continuing to buy on a regular basis, however, continued reports show that the stock release was supposed to be private and for select individuals only, meaning someone with the Stock Exchange made the shares public without permission and you,” she now looked at Ficklebutte, “received your information from an inside trader, something that is legally frowned upon. Of course, my firm invested before that became obvious.” 

“Elyana-”

“Needless to say, when I received your letter informing me of Ms. Robinson's mishandling of the company and that all stockholders were in peril of losing their investment-”

“WHAT?” Genevieve started to rise, her furious focus on the man opposite of her at the table, but Guy's hand held her back. “Me? Mishandling of my company?” Gasps could be heard outside the office.

“Genevieve-”

“You didn't tell me this!” She turned her indignation on her attorney. “Oh,” she was wagging her finger at him, “are we going to have a talk when this is over!” 

Guy nodded, seeming to not be worried that his client, was about to blow a gasket. “Yes, we are.” 

Genevieve then turned the full force of her anger on her adversary. “Oh, this so not over when we are through here!” Ficklebutte's eyes betrayed his inner thoughts – terrified that she would bury her finger knuckle deep within his sternum. 

“You have a right to be angry, Ms. Robinson,” Elyana began sympathetically. “And I am furious for you. When I received this,” she waved the missive at Ficklebutte before handing it to Genevieve, “I immediately investigated the company again. I could not believe for a moment that we had misjudged a company so badly and that it went downhill so quickly. Never, in the entire history of our company have we ever miscalculated an investment so poorly! I have found your statements and reports of a failing company managed by an inept owner to be incorrect. In fact, it is an outright lie! I found it equally appalling that you would offer to liquidate the company and ensure that all stockholders would be paid their shares in full through your hostile takeover and sale.” She drummed her nails on the table. “Gui and I have come to the conclusion that your findings are incorrect and that to liquidate would cost not only my firm, but all involved, a large sum of money, denying all who have invested financially of a much larger return as the years progress and the company grows. Why should I take your settlement of a thousand dollars when in one or two years' time, my investment will be worth ten times, twenty times that amount? That would be a ludicrous deal to take! As a business woman, if this sort of attempt of a takeover were aimed at me and mine, I would consider it slander and I would lash out as I deemed fit! It would behoove all involved if Robinson Architects continued as is in the hands of Ms. Robinson.” She rested back in her chair, her hands folded demurely. 

Ficklebutte was gritting his teeth. “So, you are saying?” 

“I am saying that I am putting my shares with Ms. Robinson. You will not be taking over this company today or ever.” She turned to Genevieve and smiled, that smile and those eyes so very familiar. “I believe this will give you a majority share, am I correct?” 

“Yes, ma'am!” The noise outside the door was threatening to erupt. “I am forever indebted to you and the owner of Eastbrook Financiers.” 

There was a sparkle in the woman's eyes before she addressed Ficklebutte and his sweating attorney. “Have you ever met the owner of Eastbrook Financiers?” 

Ficklebutte was perspiring heavily. “I don't believe I've had the pleasure.”

Genevieve had Guy's hand clasped tightly and she watched as he raised it to his lips, kissing her knuckles. “Would you care to introduce him?” 

Elyana gestured to Guy. “Al? Might I introduce you to the owner of Eastbrook Financiers, among other companies, my son, Sir Guy Crispin FitzGisborne, Earl of Eastbrook, Baron of Torksey and Duke of Gévaudan. He is also a Knight of the Realm and Lord of Locksley, but he doesn't claim them as he thinks it is pretentious.” She leaned over towards Genevieve. “You know, the whole 'Robin Hood' legend.”

“I do not claim any of them, Mother.” Guy was completely focused on Genevieve's hand. Titles are hereditary. I do not believe I have earned a one.”

“I disagree.” Genevieve's voice was a bare whisper, drowned up by the roaring in her outer office and heard only by Guy. “As you have ever been, you are my knight. My knight in shining armor.” She looked up at Ficklebutte. “I believe I will take the last option. I still own more of this company than you. This meeting is adjourned. Good-bye, good riddance and have a nice life.” She waved both Ficklebutte and his attorney from the office, listening to the hissing as both made their way through the gauntlet of her employees. 

“OWNED!”

“BOO, YOU WHORE!”

As things quietened down, Bradley made his way into Genevieve's office. Taking the position on the other side, opposite of Guy, he braced himself on both hands, one on the table, the other on the back of Gen's chair, bending over in an attempt to get eye-to-eye with Genevieve. Guy sensing something serious was about to go down, reached over and clicked off his tape recorder. “You know, what I did for the army.” His tone was all seriousness. 

“No, Bradley. What did you do for the army?” 

“I blew things up. Buildings, occupied, unoccupied. Certain types of explosives for certain types of buildings, bridges, soil.” 

_That explains a lot of things._

“If that man messes with you or the company-” 

“I think we have it taken care of, Bradley.” 

He was nodding nervously, unaware Guy and his mother, plus those in the foyer outside the office were watching carefully. “No, really. For the first time in my life, I'm accepted here and all of you are family. If he messes with my family-”

“Bradley.” Genevieve's hand covered his. “He is not worth you relapsing. You are stronger than that. You are worth more to me and us than taking revenge on him. You got that?” 

For a moment, it was quiet, a flash of frightening intensity in the man's eyes. 

Then he relaxed. 

“Yeah. I am worth something, aren't I?” 

“Yes, you are.” Genevieve didn't turn him loose, but looked into the area through her office door. “Where is Val?” 

“On the couch, reading Vogue.” 

Genevieve lifted her chin, as if to yell over the wall. “Refresh my memory, but I do believe there are no dire deadlines next week, are there?” 

Val was now standing tall and regal in in the doorway. “No. There are several preliminary meetings for potential clients, none of them are scheduled for mock-ups.” 

“Fact-finding missions! Then I think, we can call it an early day. With pay.” Genevieve leaned back. “Go home, people. Too much excitement!” She was still hanging onto Bradley. “You okay?” 

He shrugged. “I'm okay.” 

“HEY!” Marquis, leaned in through the door, addressing Bradley. “What are your plans this weekend?” 

“I have a full week-end date with a sweet young thing!” Bradley was slowly relaxing, still unaware of the close scrutiny he was under by Guy and Elyana. “Miss Maleficent and I are going to have a Star Trek Marathon.” 

“Movies or the show?” 

Bradley stood up, pulling away from Genevieve. “Starting with the Original Series and moving through the rest. Might do the movies next weekend. I'm picking up pizzas and a case of Coca-Cola. And kitten milk.” 

Marquis had a hand on his hip and a finger in the air. “You know, I would have never figured you for a Star Trek geek. Antwan,” that would be Marquis' current squeeze, “says he would go straight for Uhura. I'm jealous of the bitch. I'll bring bread sticks and Dr. Pepper.” 

“Did someone say Star Trek?” Mallory's head was in the door. “Oh mah Gawd! The new Bones in the reboot? Karl Urban? I can bring brownies! Chips.”

“Did someone say Star Trek?” 

Genevieve had her head in both hands. “Bradley, you're going to have company all weekend.”

She felt his hand on her head. “I welcome it. I so welcome it. I've missed people and they will keep me from back-sliding.” He headed out the door. “Bring your sleeping bags and pillows. My place is little but...”

And his voice faded off, the sound dying. Genevieve looked up in time to see Val back in the doorway. “We will have a meeting first thing on Monday on professionalism and how to behave when there are guests in the house. Do you have a bag you wish brought upstairs?”

Genevieve fished her car keys from her briefcase. “The smaller purple bag in my trunk. I don't know if anyone knows what I drive, though.”

“I know what you drive. So does Archer.” Very quietly, the door was shut.

Genevieve turned to the woman on her left. “I don't know where to begin.” 

“Why don't we start with introductions?” Again, the smile was familiar. “I am Elyana FitzGisborne Eastbrook , along with quite a few titles and whatnot, but you will call me Elyana for now and if my eyes do not deceive me, you will call me Mother before the year is out. I would shake your hand, but my son seems to have laid claim to it.” 

This was true. Guy had Genevieve's hand, kissing the knuckles and not seeming to desire to turn it loose anytime soon.

“We have a great deal to discuss. Guy?” 

He lifted his head, but did not relinquish the hand he held so tight. “I have a meeting with the District Attorney after lunch. I have information to turn over to him about Ficklebutte's business dealings. In addition, I am still accruing information and investigating whoever it was that released Genevieve's stock. The more I dig, the more complicated it becomes. This is not over. However, we are scheduled to check in at the Marriott at 5 PM and our dinner reservations are at 6 PM.” 

“My bags are in my car.” 

Elyana was watching the two carefully. “I checked in last night at the Hyatt. If your lady does not mind, I will meet the two of you for lunch and then she and I can talk and get to know each other while you meet with your District Attorney. Right now, I am going to change into something less austere and more comfortable. Genevieve, has he tried to convince you that the two of you met in a previous life during the Dark Ages and fell in love?” 

Genevieve slid the wedding band from her finger and set it before Guy's mother. “Not only did we fall in love, he married me.” She then pulled the chain from around her neck, the signet tucked beneath her suit jacket. “He gave me this when he sent me to Ripley's to hide from someone who threatened me. And I have the betrothal ring.” 

Elyana picked up the ring. “This is quite old.” 

“I had it made right after I was made a knight in 1182.” 

“And the crucifix he has worn since he found it in his grandfather's things?” 

“I gave it to him before I was...”

“Before you were snatched from my grasp.”

Elyana was still inspecting the ring on the chain. “Guy's third word was 'Gen'veve'. Both his father and I knew that our baby's soul was an old soul and we simply accepted that. Roger told me there had been whispers in the family of a tall ghost clad in dark, ancient clothing who could be seen on the grounds, wandering near the old foundations of Locksley and at times seen in Nottingham Castle, who would disappear for sixty to seventy years, only to show up again, to wait and wander and pass the time. There are portraits of the family that span back over six hundred years and many generations and it is obvious the marked family resemblance that remained strong through out the line.” She handed the ring and chain back to the woman who would become her daughter-in-law. “According to my son, he is the reincarnate of several ancestors, who made sure the family was strong, and the family businesses remained solvent and growing. My favorite one, however,” with this she stood and began to put things back in her briefcase, shutting the lid when she finished. “was the one time he was reincarnated as a woman.” 

“Oh, I have heard him mention that one.” 

“'Tis nothing.” Guy shrugged. He began to put his things away as well. “I was the last Abbess of Ripley's Convent, during the time Henry VIII was married to his first and second wives. I managed to secret many of the church valuables and sisters from Ripley's and into France before he stole what was the Church's property, as well as seal the catacombs, protecting the bodies of the nuns and other notables buried within. I managed, in another life, to purchase the property where the ruins of Ripley's are for the family estate. James I was kind enough to not over-charge me too horribly much.” He nodded to himself, his gaze yet again going to the skyline of Atlanta. “The FitzGisborne's have always been a good and loyal, if quiet friend, to England's monarchs.” 

“When I was in the hospital, I saw an article about an excavation that the Lord of Locksley headed up, a little over a hundred years ago.” 

“That was my last reincarnation before this one.” He turned his attention to his mother, who was fingering a single, left-out folder. “What has your attention, mother?” 

Elyana dropped the folder on the table next to her briefcase. “I brought this.” She opened the folder and inside was what appeared to be old parchment or paper, the writing spidery. Beneath it, she pulled out a series of faxed copies as well as a notepad filled with notes. “I thought your lady would find it as interesting as I always have. The family library has no less than four copies of this manuscript, from the original copy, which has been dated to the late 1190's, even though it is written on modern paper and with a modern ink pen, to this fourth copy, which Guy's great-grandfather, Johnathan William FitzGisborne, transcribed in the late 1890's. The original, I am told, has been put in safe place, a box, with special lighting to protect it.” She pushed it over to Genevieve.

Genevieve pulled it to her, immediately recognizing what it was.

_“Whereas, Slayman, Raschberg, and Ficklebutte (hereafter known as Buyer) desires to possess and own the business known as Robinson Architect Ltd. owned by Genevieve F. Robinson (hereafter known as Seller) and property, contracts, and miscellaneous items described in Attachment A, and Whereas, the parties have agreed that Buyer shall take possession of the business on October 1st, 2013_...

“This is... this is my contract.” Looking at the top, she saw, plainly written...  
 _  
Johnathan William FitzGisborne, 4th transcription, 22 Aug 1892_

_Private stock, went public when?_

At this point, the handwriting, the writing utensil, changed.

_Who authorized release? (CFG - 2006)_  
 _When was/will stock released?_  
 _When did it become public fodder?_  
 _Buy out Ficklebutte?_  
 _Reinvest?_

“This,” Elyana tapped on the folder, “has been kept well hidden for many centuries. Very few of the family knew about it. In fact, during the Tudor years, all copies were sent to the family estate in France.” 

“Many things were kept safe in France. Until Louis XVI became King of France. Then I...” Guy faltered for a moment, “I had them returned to England.” 

“You did it,” Genevieve whispered. “You bought land and a home in France.” 

Guy shrugged, unaware of his mother's shrewd gaze, “'Tis a small place, really. I feared during the revolution, the farmers would burn the place to the ground, but it was far enough removed from Paris and again, small.” 

“There are other things of great age still in possession of the family. Things you might want to see... later.” Elyana took the folder from Genevieve and replaced it in her briefcase. “I am going to change clothes. I am sorry I was late, but it sounded like your Genevieve was handling things quite well upon my arrival. You did record it?” 

Guy nodded. “Yes. Considering everything, I am going to make an appointment with Slaymen as Owner of Eastbrook and talk to him about ousting Ficklebutte.” 

“Already done, Guy.” Elyana's smile was bright. “I had breakfast this morning with Silas Raschburg and filled him in on Al's many dirty dealings. I pulled complete stock rank on the man, although I do believe it was not necessary.” 

“Silas has adored mother for years,” Guy smirked.

Elyana continued, ignoring her son. “I suspect by this afternoon, Al will be clearing out his desk and vacating his office. Silas is calling a board meeting, as I told him there was no way Eastbrook Financiers could possibly continue to invest in a company that condones unethical behavior.” 

“Even though we resorted to unethical means to obtain the information that Ficklebutte was unethical?” 

“Bite your tongue.” The woman stood up, waiting for Guy to rise and help her into her stole. “I would ask if you had a change of clothes; we would go shopping, commune over female fellowship, but perhaps that would be a joy we should wait on.” The woman was eying Genevieve's rather colorful and festive cane. Sometime during the week, one of her employees had decorated it with Valentine Cupids and hearts. She then lifted her face for Guy to kiss her cheeks. “I believe your lady has had a full day already. Perhaps you should simply order a pizza for us and we can stay here and get to know each other?”

“You know,” Genevieve's left shoulder was twinging, “that is absolutely the best idea I've heard so far all day. After me keeping my company, that is.” 

“Saving one's business from unscrupulous bastards is always a good thing.” She winked at Guy. “After love, that is. If I do not see Archer on my way down, I will call him and have him join us. The entire FitzGisborne family at one table. The world may not survive.” With much less fanfare than she arrived with, she left, leaving silence in her wake.

Guy and Genevieve stood for some time. For them, it was if the world had stopped turning.

“Hello, Sir Guy.” 

The bow was something out of a time so very long ago; it sang of olde world antiquity. “Greetings and fair day to you, my lady.” 

“Long time, no see.” 

That side smile and smirk she fell in love with presented itself as the man chuckled low. “You don't say.” He leaned backwards on the table, hands in pockets. “'Tis not quite 10 AM. We have a few hours to kill before we meet Mother and Archer for lunch. What would you like to do?”

It didn't take Genevieve two seconds to launch into a light-hearted rant. “An allowance? Really, Guy-”

[](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/ZeeDippyVessel/media/Fic%20Artwork/manna372b_zpsb64117c6.jpg.html)

“You were about to spend my money like a wife,” Guy responded drolly. “I love her dearly, but even my mother has been given limits.” He nodded to himself, ignoring Genevieve's outraged huff. “Granted, it is a generous amount and I have been lenient over the years when she desired an advance or a release of extra funds.”

Genevieve was looking at him, watching him intently. It dawned on him, she was inspecting him, comparing him with the man she remembered. A man who had been through nine lives and 800 years of change and reshaping and remolding. In their time together this week, their lunches, dinners, Skyping, things, subjects had been avoided and Guy fully expected her to demand answers, peel back the many layers that made up Guy of Gisborne and lay them out. 

And his deepest fear was she would find him lacking in some way. 

“How old are you?” 

“Genevieve, I was born in Eleven fifty-”

“No. Right now. This life. Standing before me. How old are you?” 

“42.” 

She inhaled deeply and nodded, crossing her arms. “I see children will be discussed much sooner than later.” 

Guy agreed. “I had children late in life once before. I was 56 when my first child – a daughter – finally arrived. I loved my children, but having them at that late age is not something I wish to repeat.” Pushing off the table, he took her hand and led her to the large window that separated the office from the balcony. He turned to face her, tucking her in his arms and pulling her under his chin. “Next important question.” 

“FitzGisborne. Why not Gisborne?” 

This was a question he lived in fear of for centuries. To admit to this flaw... this failing. “Fitz. Meaning 'son of'.” 

“Son of Gisborne.” 

“Yes.” 

“You had a son?” 

He immediately began to back-peddle, something Guy did so very rarely. Even with John and Vaisey, he had never back-peddled, never made excuses. “Genevieve, I am no longer the man I was in Nottingham.” 

His embrace was welcome, desired, and Genevieve allowed him to hold her tighter. “Yes, you have evolved from that Neanderthal I loved and married so many years ago, however, I pray that inside that debonair suit and tie and cufflinks, is the soul of the ruthless, powerful, vengeful, knight I fell in love with.” She lifted her head up. “Are you going to tell me you are no longer ruthless or powerful or vengeful?” 

“Genevieve, I built an empire over the last 800 years. The family owns and still operates a lace factory and a bicycle factory. The people who live near and on the estate grow tobacco, have for centuries. We are very prosperous.”

“But are you still ruthless?” He had a feeling she was teasing with him.

Guy's eyes were dark, the pupils so open, the glass ring of blue was all but gone. “I have the power and the ability to destroy not only Ficklebutte, but his entire firm. I do not need to go to the District Attorney or demand he be forced to retire or jailed, which will surely happen. I have the power to eradicate them if they do not bend to my wishes. I will bend Ficklebutte to my wishes, in order to retrieve your stock, although that will not happen today. However, you will have your revenge and I will bring him to his knees. So, yes, I am still ruthless. And yes, I had a son. He was born two years before you came to me.” He pulled her in tighter, “But right this very moment, I have no desire to speak of any of this. We have the weekend. We will have the weekend in bed to talk. We will talk about my son, my lives, how I came to be here. We will argue, I am sure. I desire to tie you to the table again, however I doubt your body will withstand it, so we will wait. If you are not on any form of birth control, I will do my damnedest to impregnate you and I am aware that no one cares if you are expecting at the ceremony or if our child is the flower girl or ring bearer. So this moment, my one fulfillable desire,” and with this, he tipped her head back, “is simply to kiss you.” 

His lips found her forehead, brushed down the side of her face to her earlobe, his nose taking in the delicate scent of her perfume, her body wash, her shampoo. In others, these scents clashed, but with her, they were pleasantly compatible. 

Her fingers found the curls at his nape, tugging gently, trying to shift him, move him.

And when he finally found her mouth, tasted her, her lips, her tongue, her breath...

...he found home.

After several minutes, he lifted for air, Genevieve breathless. “Do it again,” she whispered. “Kiss me again.” 

Growling, he backed her up, backed up into her desk. Taking great care of her hip and leg, he lifted her to the top, raising her to a higher level. “You need a couch in this office.”

Her lips were against his Adam's apple. “Why?” She was wreaking havoc on Guy's senses. If he was simply looking for a quick tumble, he would have his way with her right now.

“So the next time you and I have an hour alone here, we may take better advantage.” His mouth found hers again, his hand unbuttoned her jacket and cupped her breast, taking great pleasure when he felt her nipple respond through the lace of her bra, felt her respond to him. His tongue delved between her teeth, tasting her...

It took everything to stop, turn her loose, her mouth loose, much to her dismay, and hold her to him. 

“Guy? Please...”

“I have not waited eight centuries to simply take you on your desk and be done,” he breathed raggedly in her ear. “I have planned this, fantasized...”

“Big bed and candles.” 

“Big bed and candles on the top floor of the Marriott, with the curtains open and the moon shining in.”

She was teasing him again. She had pulled him down to her by his lapels and was worrying the sensitive spot beneath his ear with her teeth “What if there is no moon?” 

“There will be a moon.” 

“I don't think we'll be worried about the moon, Guy.” 

“The moon reminds me of you.”

This caught her attention. “Really?” She pulled away and looked up.

He nodded, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear. “Many nights in the past, I would stand at the window and look at the moon and call her 'Genevieve'. So beautiful, so bright, and so far away.” He kissed her on top of the head. “But not so far away now.” 

“Well then,” she responded, the spark in her voice obvious, “you remind me of the sun!” 

Guy started to laugh. “The sun? I am anything but sunny!” One eyebrow went up. “If anything, I am dark and-”

“You remind me of the sun,” she insisted. 

“Genevieve, it is cloudy and gloomy. The sun,” he peered around her, ensuring that yes, it was still cloudy out, “is hiding.” 

He felt her attitude change in his arms immediately and he knew he had walked into this trap. “That's right! The sun is hiding, just like you hid from me!” She punched him once on the shoulder. “Why did you wait so long? Don't give me this crap you would start kissing me and not stop! You let me think you were dead, that I lost you!” The woman in his arms turned into a firebrand, a termagant. “Did you know there is a horrible poem about you?” 

“Good Guy of Gisborne, In horsehide and mane and tail?” Guy was having a difficult time containing his mirth. Did she have no idea how glorious she was in a fury? “I have seen that one. I admit 'tis slightly inaccurate.” He smirked. “I believe I was over-charged by the charlatan of a musician who I paid to write it for me!” 

“Slightly inaccurate? I cried! You paid for that piece of shit? I cried and looked for you, any mention of you and I found nothing! Nothing!” Genevieve was shaking in righteous anger. Finally, the argument, anger at his invisibility for three months spewed forth. “And I couldn't chalk it up to a bad dream or drugs because I was wearing this!” She shoved her ring finger in his face, causing him to jerk back. “And I had your signet! And you knew it! You knew I was there, you knew I was grieving! And yet you hid from me and let me go through all of it alone!” She punched him again. “You abandoned me!”

“I did not!” the man holding her angrily retorted. He did not turn her loose. If anything, he held her tighter. “I did not abandon you or allow you to go through anything alone!” While his voice was soft, it held a dangerous edge, one that snatched Genevieve from her indignation and held her in thrall. “You were never alone! I stood on that street corner and watched you drive into that intersection, knowing you were listening to that pathetic excuse of a human you called a boyfriend cowardly inform you that you weren't good enough for him and his mother hissing like a snake in the background, telling him you were illegitimate white trash! I watched you pull in front of another car and witnessed you get knocked and spun like a child's top in that interchange by a truck and another vehicle. I have never been so terrified for another human being in my life and I could not stop or prevent it because if I did, you would never had been sent to me and I would immediately forget why I was here!” He stopped to take a breath, seeing the shock on her face. “I stood on that corner and watched it, knowing, yes, I could have prevented it, by stalling you, something. Does that make me a coward? My greatest fear at that moment was losing you forever. It wasn't you not knowing us, or not remembering us. It wasn't you being with another. My greatest fear was you would forget about me and forgetting everything we had and the only way for you to remember that was to go through that accident and to be sent to me!” His breathing was ragged. “It was the knowledge that you would have lost your company because George was incapable and his crone of a secretary spent the day attempting to close the office! She purposely saved calling you for last! I knew that if I stopped you from going into that intersection, you would have lost your business, lost your boyfriend in under a week; you would have lost everything you have worked for, because there was no one with enough power or money to protect you and Lamar had no intention of ever marrying you! And I would have lost you!”

“So I had to watch you drive into that intersection, run the red light, knowing what wretched thing you were listening to. I watched your car spin, hit from all sides. I called 911. I sat in the car with you, huddled under the emergency blanket while they cut and lifted you out of the car. I followed the ambulance, stayed with you 24/7, called your grandmother, sent my personal driver to her because she is terrified of flying! Sunday. Sunday afternoon, Genevieve. She arrived Sunday afternoon and I sat with you from Friday evening, to Sunday afternoon. You almost died in that car, Genevieve and I sat with you and never have I prayed so hard in my life! Never!”

“I came every night, spent every night in that room while you were unconscious, to relieve your grandmother. I prayed, dear God, I have spoken to Him more in those days than I have in all of my lives put together. I held your hand, talked to you, reminisced every single moment of our lives in Nottingham while you breathed the breath of Death. Twice, I climbed in bed next to you, begging, pleading for you to wake up, come home to me.”

“I have lived in your office for weeks, smelling your scent, your life. That company, those people you have employed were your life! I have spent 800 years trying to figure out how to save that delectable arse of yours and then I feared you would want nothing to do with me. That you would discard me like your former boyfriend discarded you!”

“Guy, that wasn't going to happen.”

He continued on, not hearing her. “At the same time, I needed you to focus; focus on healing, focus over getting over the trauma of your accident. I needed you to allow me to do what I do without distractions and my lady, you are such a delightful distraction! But yet, you are also a whimsical creature and I so very much needed you to focus on the task at hand and I am not the task at hand! I am a selfish bastard and I know I want you in my bed and you and I had more pressing business than sex! I needed to know without a shadow of a doubt you were over him and that you were still in love with me.”

“Because to this day, I cannot understand, why, by all that is holy, you would want to sell your company? Why would you just walk away from something you had put your heart and soul and then just sell it and walk away from it!” Finally, he reached the end of his rant. “What did you think he would possibly offer you? Why would you just... give up everything?” 

There. It was out. All of it. Guy was out of breath, felt as if he had run a marathon.

And Genevieve was blushing; embarrassed. “My wonderful,” she started softly, “beloved Neanderthal has evolved, hasn't he?” 

“This company is your lifeblood. I have watched you blossom and bloom. You take such joy interacting with these... boisterous, creative, genius children! Legos!” Genevieve began to laugh, albeit short-lived. “Why on earth would you want to walk away from it?” 

“I would die, you're right. I would die if I walked away from this.”

“So... why?” 

Genevieve shrugged, pulling tighter in the embrace Guy was loosening. “This is so embarrassing. You know, it never crossed my mind to sell. However, Lamar was demanding more and more of my time. He wanted me to fly here, fly there, act the hostess, drop everything on a moment's whim. His firm is opening offices in New York, Chicago, Los Angeles.” 

“He needed an arm ornament.” 

“He needed a proper hostess, a proper society wife. I... thought he wanted to marry me, so when Ficklebutte came to me with this offer to buy me out, it occurred to me I could be available to be what Lamar needed me to be.” She smiled wanly. “He pitched it as a merger.”

“Lamar's mother would never allow that. You know that.” To hear her speak like this, to give up her life to be someone, something else, infuriated him. “You should never change to accommodate someone else's needs. Ever.” 

This made Genevieve scowl. “I see now that I would never be good enough for her son. She hates my lineage. I'm illegitimate. My mother left me with Grandma, I... don't know who my father is.” She sighed. “My mother probably didn't know who my father was.”

“Legitimacy is nothing,” Guy whispered. “Genevieve, my entire line would have come to a halt when I died in the cellars of Nottingham, had I not fathered that single, illegitimate son. My entire lineage, my estate, all of it can be traced to Seth, an illegitimate blacksmith whose mother was a kitchen maid and whose father was an obscure, unknown knight. So her idea of legitimacy is is over-blown.”

She nodded numbly. “She would have made my life a living hell.” 

“Had he married you, you would have been forced to conform into someone you are not.” Guy bent over and whispered in her ear. “A trophy wife. You are smarter than that, Genevieve.” 

“Am I?” It was whispered and the breath of it caused Guy's heart to seize. He expected this argument, expected it to be heated, both ways. He did not expect her to question her goal in life.

“You are no trophy to be placed on a shelf and admired, Genevieve.” Guy leaned over and whispered in her ear. “I want to be seen with you, not because you are a trophy, or an arm ornament, but because you are beautiful and intelligent and today I discovered you are devious and twisted and I am so proud to have you to wive. And I had fears as well. There was no guarantee after I helped you save your company that you would still want me.”

“He was a mistake.” 

“What if you decide that I am a mistake as well?” 

_AHA! There it is! That spark in her is back!_

“You said you were no longer the man you were, the Neanderthal I married,” she spat through clenched teeth. “And I rather love that Neanderthal! I have refused to judge the person you were in the past and your past actions and love the man you were and the one you've become. Please don't judge my past, as I am not the same woman who drove into that intersection.”

“That mistake brought me you.” 

“I would do it again.” 

Guy tilted his head and pulled her into his embrace. “Dear God, no, not again.” He tucked her under his chin. “I do not want to go through Vaisey and Isabella stabbing me and then 800 years of building, espionage, spying, moving valuables overseas, twice, in fact, dancing attendance on monarchs who had an inflated sense of entitlement. I can still see you going through that intersection in my mine. I do not wish to relive it again! Once was enough!” 

For a time, they stayed that way, unaware there was a break in the clouds and the sun was peeking through. 

“Can I ask a question?” 

“My lady, you are full of questions. The day you stop asking them, I will fear you have died.” He was grateful to hear her giggle.

“What happened, Guy?” Genevieve was ensconced in that embrace and she was determined not to leave it while she didn’t have to. This was home. “What happened after I left? How did you explain my disappearance? It was like a dream to me. One minute, I was there in your arms, the next minute-”

[](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/ZeeDippyVessel/media/Fic%20Artwork/manna371b_zps36135334.jpg.html)

Guy had his nose in her hair, inhaling the very scent of her, a memory he had kept in his heart for eight centuries. “Have you ever had a walk, a chat, with the angel, Douma?”

“Who?” 

“Douma. The Angel of Death.”

_**~~~...~~~** _

_**Even the man in moon disappeared** _

_**~~~...~~~** _


	39. Chapter 38 - ... I Will Go

_**Manna from Heaven** _

_**Chapter 38** _

_**...I will go** _

“Who?”

He squeezed her tighter, as if to ensure Genevieve was really there. “Douma, the Angel of Death. Have you ever had a walk or chat with her?” Guy looked down, to see her shaking her head, horrified. “Oh, it is quite interesting. Not frightening at all.” 

“GUY!” 

“Perhaps, on second thought, it is a bit frightening. At first.” Guy's thoughts went back... so long ago. “One minute,” he whispered, “one minute, you were there, in my arms, almost like this and then...”

_**~~~...~~~** _

One minute, she was there. She was there, just in front of him, looking up at him, in his arms and smiling... smiling in sheer joy and telling him she loved him. Guy pulled her closer, an equally huge smile on his face. For the first time since he could remember, he was… happy. He knew it wouldn't last for much longer, but he wanted to burn this memory, etch it into his brain. He was happy. And then...

She was gone.

_Gone._

Guy stopped in his tracks, alarm quickly replacing joy. Dust motes in the late fall sunshine rose from his arms.

“Genevieve?” He looked around.

No Genevieve. 

Down. Using his foot, he brushed through the grass. Possibly there was a hole; he didn’t put it past Robin to dig hidey-holes in broad daylight, even in this sacred place. His brain refused to acknowledge the inevitable, the obvious. He worked back and forth, looking.

“GENEVIEVE!” 

The knight looked back at the tree, to see if somehow she had slipped behind him.

Only to see the saddlebag with her things in it, shimmering…

Vanishing.

_NO!_

Guy turned back to where the two of them had just been, sparkling dust cycloning upwards towards the sun and dissipating. 

“No!”

He was suddenly aware of Genevieve’s crucifix hanging around his neck. Falling to his knees and paying little attention to the laces and buckles, he tore them open, to find and grab onto that precious, precious gift, only to feel it also glistening and fading. His fingers clutched the cross, the ends piercing his fingers.

“NO!”

He felt it die away in his fingers. He clutched it tighter, as if to keep it from joining Genevieve, to keep from losing this one small reminder of her and collapsed on his face, squeezing his eyes shut, as if to keep the tears from escaping. “NOOOOOOOOOO!!!! Oh God, please, no!” He was not aware of the darkening of the sky or the cessation of the birdsong.

“Vous souhaitez garder cela, Guy?”

His eyes shot open, staring at the dirt in his face. “Mama?” He lifted his head, only to see the edge of a long gown, bare toes sticking out from the pristine white of the skirts. “Mère?”

“Ah, bon. J'ai votre attention.”

“Mère?” It was strangled, forced. How long had it been since he truly heard his mother? Her voice?

“I am sorry, no. But she sends her love.” Finally, Guy looked up, the countenance of the being shadowed in the sun. Suddenly, black wings shot out, the edges cracking sharply, shading him, shading the area around them both. “She watches over you and, to be quite honest, you and your sister are driving her insane. She would smack the both of you if she could. She says she raised you better than this.” The being… angel… smiled and Guy realized that her eyes were constantly changing colors. “You did not answer my question. Would you like to keep it? Genevieve’s crucifix?” She nodded at the chain, hovering between metal and air, clutched so tightly in his hands.

As if to answer for him, the chain and cross became solid in his hand. “Yes. Please.” He bent over again, forehead pressed into the dirt. “Please do not take it.” Once it was apparent it was not going to leave his hand, he growled into the earth. “Bring her back!”

“Je suis désolé.”

His head jerked up, fury written on his face. “Apportez. Elle. Retour.” If anything, Guy’s countenance darkened further when the angel shook her head negatively. He stabbed his finger into the ground. “I said; Bring. Her. Back.”

The angel shook her head sorrowfully. “I am sorry. I cannot.”

“Yes, you can!”

“This is not her time, Guy. She does not belong here.”

“You sent her here-“

“Yes, I did. I sent her here, so she could search for the answers she needed while her body healed in her time.”

“Her body…” Guy’s eyes flew in memory. All those strange, horrid bruises that he thought he caused, lamented over, that would rise and fall. “She was hurt.” His face hardened. “Who hurt her? I will kill them.”

“She was horribly injured in her time, Guy. She has been unconscious for some days.” 

“Who hurt her?” 

“No one deliberately hurt her, Guy. It was an accident. A horrible, serious accident.” 

He was blinking rapidly. “The paper, the contract, she was reading…”

“Yes.”

“You sent her here,” he stabbed the ground with his finger, “to figure it out, while her body healed there. I read it. I read it for her!”

“Yes.”

He didn’t think twice. “Take me to her.”

“I cannot.”

Guy reared up, rocked back on his heels, staring maliciously up at the angel. “You sent her here; you can send me there.”

“Not at this time.”

“She needs help!” he retorted.

“Yes.”

“She needs my help!”

“She needs someone ruthless.”

Guy rolled his eyes and pointed to himself. “A clue.”

The angel’s eyes rolled and changed colors to a vibrant red. “Very funny, Guy. You would be useless to her in the state you are currently in.”

The words hit him like stone. Useless. Useless. The last thing Guy ever wanted to be was…

_Useless._

“Then let me die.” It was whispered, the sound floating on the air. 

“Oh, Guy,” the angel tsked, “what fun would that be, when you can still wage so much damage and bring not only Vaisey down, but Isabella as well? Besides, you have died four times already. Soon, I am not going to be able to give you any more chances!” She seemed to find amusement at Guy's sudden look of confusion.

“I have died how many times?” 

“Four times? Five times? Oh,” she leaned forward smiling coquettishly, “if you meet Anael, do not tell her.” She whispered as if to impart a great secret. “She thinks she kept you so well hidden for so long. Oh,” her hand pressed down in front of her, just below her armpit, "she would look like a grandmother with blue hair. No taller than this." Guy frowned and mouthed _'Blue hair?'_ She began to tick off her fingers. “The first time, that envious excuse of a bailiff hung you." She shook her head in derision. "We made sure your father made it home in time after that." To Guy's disgust, she was ticking the instances from her fingers, as if to keep count. "The second time, you did not make it back across the English Channel, you were so torn up over Marian’s death. You jumped overboard in the dead of night. That was bothersome.” 

“I committed suicide and it was simply bothersome?” That dark leonine head was thrown back, blue eyes rolling at the sky. “Joy.” 

The angel was not paying attention to Guy's underhanded histrionics. “Aye. Quite bothersome. We did not think you had the heart to do it.” She stopped for a moment, considering whether or not to tell he had been hung again and beheaded the other time. Considering the volatile nature of the black knight, she decided a different path. “Needless to say, it did not get any better, although you managed to get closer to your goal each time. Yes,” she nodded to herself, “you did manage to get closer.”

Guy was not mollified in any way. “And what goal would that be?” 

The angel made a moue with her mouth. “Oh, get up off your knees.” She motioned for him to rise with her fingers. “While you are most lovely in that submissive position, it is certainly not you.” She waited for him to stand. “We should walk. I become frustrated when I am not moving.”

“What goal?”

“You are tenacious. Fixated on your goal. I always like that about you.” 

“What goal?” 

The angel tucked her wings in and began to stroll, her hands clasped behind her back and beneath her wings. “I am Douma, The Angel of Death-”

“Have you come to take me to hell?” Suddenly, Guy was next to her, all fury, all curiosity gone. He now wore an expression of fear.

“Ah,” Douma waved her finger. “Not so anxious to die now, are you?” Guy shook his head. “I thought not.”

“I want to help Genevieve. Please.” 

Douma smiled, her eyes now a midnight blue, stars floating in them. “That is the plan, however, you have a goal, a destiny to fulfill first.” 

“What destiny?” 

This was now the third time he had asked. Douma stopped for a moment to contemplate the tall knight. It was not often she looked anyone in the eye, but this one… “You have decisions to make and demons to excise.” Suddenly, the sky darkened, atmospheric anger weighing heavy. Douma didn’t seem the least bit disturbed as she lifted her face and spoke to the air. “Anael pleaded with Genevieve when she hid in the convent. And if Anael can wheedle Genevieve, I should be allowed to entice Sir Guy!” She looked at the knight beside her. “I will pay penance for that. Quite.” 

“The Angel of Death pays penance?” 

“Oh, yes. Why do you think I am the Angel of Death?” 

“What goal?” 

Douma stood up taller. “You are like a dog with a bone. I rather like that quality in you!” 

“I want to help Genevieve. I want to be with Genevieve. You are not getting me any closer to my goal.” He took a deep breath. “I have no life here. I cannot correct the many mistakes I have made. I wouldn't know where to begin. And she needs help.” For a moment, this mighty warrior was brought low, made small. “She will lose her business, something she has worked hard for. She has... people counting on her. Please,” he beseeched, “let me help her. Tell me how.” 

Douma smiled at his plea. Now, they were getting somewhere. _Love, pure of heart and sincere in motivation, does not cry to be placed first, but it insists on giving that position to the one who is loved, lifting them up, placing them up front and willingly taking a back seat. Selfishness demands, 'What’s in it for me?' while Love asks, 'What can I give?'_

_Finally, he was making the transition._

“You are correct, Guy. Many mistakes you cannot correct, but you can learn from them and use the lesson forward. There are some mistakes made that you can correct. Genevieve is in trouble, needs someone ruthless to protect her, her employees, her company. And yes, Guy, you are ruthless; however, you are not equipped for the type of warfare that will need to be waged in her time. You know and are well versed in weapons and military. Genevieve needs legal savvy and skill. This will be a war of words, a war of wits and cunning, a war of law, not a war of might. That is going to take some time for you to develop that particular expertise. About eight hundred years' worth of time.” 

“Eight hundred years? Am I that inept?” 

Douma blinked, her eyes changing to a vivid green. "Guy." He stared at her, waiting. "Eight hundred years. Consider it eight hundred years of experiencing life! Many men only have one lifetime to build a dynasty. You will have many to build an empire!" She leaned forward and hissed, "You will need an empire, believe me!" She didn't tell him that in that eight hundred years, he would pay much penance.

Now Guy seemed completely unaffected by the time span. “What do I need to do to help Genevieve? How do I reach my goal?”

Douma smiled. _Perhaps this time, he would complete the task at hand._ “You have greatness in you, yet you do not accept it, nor see the vastness of it. You need to release your demons. They do not hold you; you cling to them. You must finish your time here and you must die proud of who you are, the man you have been, the man you will become. You must die with such honor that you will leave this life with few regrets. But you need to finish the task started and you need to die with respect for yourself.” She took a deep breath, grateful that Guy did no interrupt this time, but listened intently. “In the meantime, in his life, of which you really do not have a lot of left, you need to come to grips and come to peace with your demon. You have to decide who do you love, what do you want, what are your priorities. What really is important? Power or your soul? Your name? Your lineage? You need to embrace your humanity and forgive yourself. People here need the skills you have and they are going to need them in a very, very short time. At some point, you are going to have to decide about your enemies; specifically, who is the enemy of your enemy and who are they to you?” 

Guy answered immediately. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.” 

Douma pointed at him. “You remember that. Bile is galling, but sometimes, one must accept what is in his stomach. You will swallow or choke.” Douma's slight smile dropped. “Who or what are you loyal to? A deranged, power-hungry sheriff? A prince who will lie to become king? Are you loyal to the memory of a dead woman, who, yes, taught you there was more to you, your soul, but did not love you in return? One who saw you more as a useful tool than a friend or a lover? Or will you become loyal to the promise of a woman who, at this very moment, does not yet walk this earth, yet loves you unconditionally, regardless of your flaws, and showed you there was more to your life than you think?” It was quiet while Guy reflected on her words. “Marian was never yours, was never intended for you. You must accept this. God has another use for you, another intended for you.” 

At this pronouncement, Guy swallowed hard. “I know this.” He looked away, blinking into the sun. “She... Marian made me a better man.” 

“Yes, she did. She made you a better man. For Genevieve's sake.” 

Guy was shaking his head. “But, I killed her. How can God forgive me, when I cannot forgive myself?” 

With this, Douma threw her hands in the air. Was the boy not even listening? “Guy! God can use anyone! King David was an adulterer, a murderer. Noah was a drunk, Jacob was a liar, Abraham and Sarah were old.” Guy was staring at the angel as if she were deranged. “Good God, man! Lazarus was dead! God still used him! He plans to use you as well, but you need to turn loose of what you’ve asked forgiveness for! Judgement is not up to you!” She turned her back on him, hands on her hips. “That is your biggest problem,” she whispered, although Guy could clearly hear her. “It is not your grip on Marian, but the fact you cling to your sins and refuse to let them go. He has forgiven you. She has forgiven you! You must forgive yourself.” She stopped for a moment, a long finger in the air. “If it helps you along, go to Confession and spill your guts to the priest. He will not be the least bit surprised. Dwelling on past decisions you have made only allows those decisions to continue to define you! Forgive yourself and move on!”

The two continued to walk, while Guy pondered all the angel told him. “How much time do I have?”

“Not much.”

“How much time?” It was gritted between clenched teeth. Douma stopped and turned to him.

“I cannot tell you everything. I have already told you too much. I cannot give you a timeline, a blow-by-blow. There are many things you must figure out and accomplish on your own!” 

“I DO NOT WISH TO CONTINUE LIVING THIS LIFE, OVER AND OVER!” Guy snapped. 

If the Angel of Death was upset by his outburst, she did not show it. “I have told you all I can. More than I should.” She dropped her head, in thought. “Although, there is one other thing. Your son, Seth,” Guy turned white. “is alive, as is his mother.”

All blood drained from Guy’s face. “Please tell me they are safe, well,” he licked his lips nervously, ”taken care of.” 

Douma nodded. “They are.” She let him digest that for a moment. “Should you decide that you are more than you think and you can come to terms with your demons, you need to acknowledge him as your heir and you need to do it very soon.”

“That little time?”

“Aye.” She noticed the knight was blinking rapidly. “You must make arrangements for him as soon as possible, in fact. If you accomplish the task I have set for you, there will come a time your title and what is rebuilt in the Gisborne name will come in useful. It must not die with you.” 

He was still blinking. “My title will die with me. If Richard returns, my lands are forfeit. All I can leave him is money." His eyes lit up. "How would you suggest I go about this?” He looked over at the angel, his eyes still cast down. “I do not wish for the sheriff or my sister to know.”

“Oh no, they must not find out about Seth or Annie. Go to the convent of the Sisters of the Immaculate Conception.”

“Ripley's Convent.” 

“Yes and speak to the Mother Superior. There are no spies at the Convent. Upon your death, as much of your wealth as possible should be taken there for the boy, if not before. Bury the rest in a place secret to only you.” The sky began to darken. “I must go, Guy. I have told you much more than I intended.” She pointed to the chain around his neck. “You tuck that under your clothing, keep it next to your skin. There is love in that gift.” She watched as he slipped the jewelry tenderly into place. “No one will remember her, Guy. Only you. As long as you keep that.”

“If I do this,” Guy finally looked up, once the crucifix was safely tucked back under his shirt, his eyes clear, “and I die as you say I should, what then?”

Douma’s head ticked back and forth. “When the time comes, you will come to me. We will watch the successful fruition of the destruction you have wrought and then…” her voice drifted off.

“You will tell me what I need to do to return to Genevieve.”

“Yes,” she nodded affirmatively. “She will need someone merciless, someone who gives off the aura of much power, someone who can watch over her and protect her. Someone who knows the ins and outs of the law, the stock market, and has the ability to investigate and navigate the unseen.” She smiled maliciously. “He will need to be vengeful and strike with wrath.”

Guy was smirking. “That sounds evil.”

“Very.”

“So evil, it will take eight hundred years to learn?”

“Yes.”

Guy thought for a moment. “Sounds… intriguing. Will I learn what a banana is?”

Douma began to laugh. “And eat a few too I am sure.”

Guy’s responding chuckle was quite wicked.

_**~~~…~~~** _

“I almost lost my head.” Guy was now standing in front of the long, glass window, looking over the Connector, the cars lined up both ways for miles. It was Friday and rush hour never seemed to end in Atlanta on Friday. Genevieve’s head was tucked up under his chin and he held her close, his long fingers in her hair, stroking. “There was a young woman at the gallows with me – Meg. She died helping me escape.” He clutched her tighter. “Of all the deaths I had some sort of hand in, that one grieves me the most.” He continued to watch the traffic, unseeing of the sun trying to peak out of the clouds behind him. “I was almost hanged. That one frightened me more than almost losing my head.”

“Why?” Genevieve’s voice was muffled in his chest.

“With beheading, it is over. When hung, if your neck does not snap, you strangle. It takes longer.” He waited until Genevieve looked up. “If I am to choose my way of death, if it is not to die asleep in my bed, beheading is preferable to hanging.” 

“When Douma left, all I had of you were the memories, your crucifix and the copy of your contract that I had written out. No one remembered you. It was as if you had never been there.” He tipped his head. “I take that back. Eleanor remembered you, but she never spoke a word of you. Not until she was close to the end of her life and she spoke of you to Roland FitzGisborne, because in her great age, she thought she was a teenager again and that Roland was Guy.”

“Which he was.” 

“Aye.” Guy squeezed her tighter. “She treasured your memory. She remembered stealing coffee and spending the weekend at Nottingham as a lady's maid and watching a joust that did not take place.” 

“In early spring, after you left, Prince John showed up. He commanded me to kill Vaisey; he was displeased with how Vaisey was running things. Unbeknownst to me, he ordered Vaisey to kill me.” 

“Too many snakes in the barnyard.” 

“Perhaps. Or John playing games. Mostly John wanting the stronger of the two. I killed Vaisey, or so I thought, and was immediately made Sheriff.” 

Genevieve was holding her breath. _So the legends of the cruel sheriff were really about Guy._

“I think I was sheriff a matter of perhaps a few hours, before my conscience rebelled. I would either become John's puppet, dancing attendance to do his bidding to keep my head, or I would turn into a creature as black and cruel as Vaisey, if not worse. I tried to kill John, but failed. I ended up an outlaw, in Sherwood, jumping at the sound of rodents in the leaves. Isabella pandered to John, and she became Sheriff.” He snorted. “Imagine. A woman as a sheriff!” 

“Ah! The return of the Neanderthal!” Guy's chest shook with contained laughter. “You said you died an honorable death. That you had a brother.” 

“True. In short, everything I blamed myself for for years, I discovered was not my fault. While wandering Sherwood after I became an outlaw, I challenged Hood. I blamed him for everything. The loss of my inheritance, the loss of my title, the loss of Marian, his attack on you. But before we could cross swords... one minute I was charging Hood and then everything went black and when I woke up, Hood and I were both trussed like pigs in front of a campfire, with a raspy voiced hermit telling the two of us our bad blood was actually his fault. I thought the fire I accidentally started in my home had killed my parents and Hood's father. I didn't. It didn't kill them. My father and Sir Malcolm became embroiled in a fight that killed my mother, killed my father and left Sir Malcolm a burned hermit, a shell of a man. I wonder how different my life would have been had I known that from the beginning. I wonder how different it would have been had I known the bailiff couldn't disinherit me.” His voice was far off, remember a different time, a different life. “So many years, so many things, I just couldn't forgive myself.” 

“When did you forgive yourself, Guy?” 

She could almost hear him thinking. “When I lay on the stones of Nottingham's cellar floor, dying from stab wounds I received from my sister and Vaisey. While sheriff, Isabella became a murderous shrew, equally as black as Vaisey. She tried to have me beheaded, just to prove she could and I would have gone gratefully to my death, but she condemned a girl, a young, stupid girl to be beheaded as well for the simple reason she befriended me.”

“The one you mentioned earlier. Anyone I know?” 

“Meg?” Guy shook his head. “No. Hood saved us, because Isabella was being a vindictive bitch, but Meg died in the escape from the castle.” He took a breath before continuing. “She died protecting me. Often times I wonder, how many innocents have died at my hands or in attempt to rescue me.”

He pulled her in tighter, clinging to her, as if she were the only thing solid on the earth in the middle of a raging storm. “When I joined Hood and captured and jailed Isabella, I couldn't bring myself to kill her. God knows she deserved to die. She almost succeeded in killing me, had put a price on my head, detached from my body! But I just couldn't bring myself to do it. So I gave her poison, instead, to take. And rather than take it, she killed the jailer, and used the poison on the blade she had and killed me and Hood. But not before we helped every citizen of Nottingham to escape and Hood didn't die until after he shot a flaming arrow into the main hall, where Tuck had created Byzantine Fire, an explosive that brought the castle down and killed Vaisey, as well as my sister.” 

“Hood and I discovered from his father, that he and my mother had a child, a child they hid until they could properly marry. The baby – Archer – disappeared before he could reclaim him. After two decades of searching, he finally found him in the York jail, but was dying and too ill to retrieve him. Hood and I had to rescue him from a jail and the hangman's noose and almost were hung ourselves. But we found him and he fought with us and continued Hood's work in the woods after our deaths.”

“And you had a son.”

“And I had a son, but that is a story for another time.” He kissed the top of her head. “For now, you need to change clothes and I need to find Archer and have him order pizzas and Cokes.” 

“And then?” 

“And then, I will see the District Attorney about Ficklebutte's insider trading and see what sort of case we might have.”

“Will he talk to you?” Genevieve's head was spinning with everything that had happened.

“I have greased his palm for some years. Yes, he will.” Guy had now turned her loose and began to clean up around his briefcase. He plugged his tape recorder into his phone.

“What are you doing?” 

“Making a back up of this tape. It will send it to my email. I will want to keep the original, but the D.A. might want it as well. When I leave for the District Attorney's office, you and mother can get acquainted. I suspect she will show you nude pictures of me as a baby.” 

“I'm looking forward to that!” 

He grinned, despite himself. “Our check-in at the Marriott is at 5 P.M. Dinner at 6.”

“And then?” 

“And then,” he moved across the room with incredible speed, taking her face in his hands. “And then I am going to make love to you, all weekend.”

_**~~~...~~~** _

The office was deserted by the time Archer arrived with pizza, Cokes, and beer, which only he drank. Both men left the two women, dressed down in jeans, heads together over Elyana's iPad where yes, she was showing Genevieve Guy's baby pictures.

Guy couldn't exit the floor fast enough. 

As they left the building, Guy nodded for Archer to follow him. There was a small park across the street between the Equitable Building and Peachtree Street. There weren't very many people in the park; it was after lunch, Friday, and rather cold. Both men buttoned their wool overcoats and stood close together where they wouldn't be over-heard.

“Did you get the recording?” Guy was looking around, obviously making sure no one was trying to listen in and tugging on his leather gloves. 

“Yeah. That Ficklebutte is a piece of work.” 

“He said several things that bothered me.” 

“Same here.” Archer was blowing on his hands. “What has your red flags up?” 

“Initially, the contract states Genevieve was to never work in the field again; however, he apparently was having second thoughts and offered her a low level job.”

“Tells me none of this was his idea.” 

Guy was nodding. “Someone put him up to it.” He looked around, taking in the grey day. “Someone has something over him.” 

“Or he owes someone a big favor.” Archer blew into his hands. “I have had a difficult time hacking into his computer and emails. Security on their system is tight, but I'll get in.”

A particularly cold wind whipped around the park. “I have faith you'll succeed. Another thing he said was that she wouldn't be allowed to walk in the social circles she had in the past.” 

“Meaning someone was jealous of her.” 

“Or her relationship with her ex-boyfriend.”

Archer thought for a moment, making a great pretense now of pulling his own gloves from his pocket and putting them on. “Or someone didn't think she belonged on that social level. Like she wasn't good enough for them or to be there.” 

“Also,” Guy processed quickly his brother's suspicions, “he mentioned she would never be respected in the architectural community at the level she currently experienced.” He reached into his overcoat and pulled out a small notebook, flipping the pages. “He mentioned his goal was to make sure she never walked in the social circles she had been and that she never enjoyed the reputation or worked at the level she had been in.” He tilted his head at his almost illegible scribblings. “I take that back. There were several goals. The first goal, according to Ficklebutte, was to put her out of business. The second goal was for her to never be in charge or in a place to make any decisions in any architectural firm. Someone wanted to stop her from holding leadership reins or having the respect of the community.” 

Archer whistled in ire. 

“The last goal was to stop her from enjoying the social circles she had in the past. That's when he offered her a – in his words – a decent, if tolerable, job.” 

“That would mean a serious pay cut.” 

Guy was staring at his notes. “Aye.” 

Archer was now leaning over his shoulder, pointing at the notebook. “This is seriously complicated. The business aspect speaks of a professional vendetta-”

“Or someone jealous of her business acumen.” 

“But is also speaks of a personal one, as well.” Archer was nodding in agreement. “Someone thinks your lady doesn't belong in their little club.” He reached into his coat to pull out a pack of cigarettes, only to replace them when Guy growled at him. “Maybe it was someone in love with her ex and wanted to make sure she was permanently out of the picture.”

Guy was staring blankly, remember back, remembering a conversation he listened to over eight hundred years ago. “Oh yes.” He closed the notebook and put it back in his pocket. “Your top priority this weekend is to hack into Ficklebutte's emails – professional and personal. See if you can crack the company's backups in case he is anal and deletes. I hope the man I am to talk to in an hour will wait until Monday to begin his investigation, so you will be free and clear to do what you need to do with little worry. Genevieve's former employer as well. She might have upset someone, stepped on toes.” 

“Didn't she take other employees, contracts and leads with her when she left?” 

_Val..._

“That she did. Her office manager followed her. Others might have. Ficklebutte personally singled out Genevieve's office manager. Could not wait to fire her, in fact.” Guy was now tapping his lip. “Someone has to be financially backing Ficklebutte in this. He couldn't raise enough cash selling the office furniture to cover that. This is ...”

“Unless he managed to get her to sign that contract. Had she signed that piece of shite, she would be paying for the vast majority of this takeover.” Archer poked him once in the arm. “Someone was heavily counting on her love for her employees to take care of them, while she took the fall.' The man put both hands back in his pockets and swung about, to look behind him. “Don't forget, that office was bugged. Several times.” Archer leaned in and hissed. “They knew we knew it was bugged and yet, they kept bugging it.” 

“I can't help but wonder,” Guy mused, “where Lamar Robincourt fits in to this puzzle. And his mother.” They waited and watched as a man rushed past, smoking a cigarette. Both Guy and Archer inhaled the second hand smoke deeply. Guy did not smoke in this lifetime. But he still missed oral satisfaction. 

“Coincidence or tied somehow?”

Guy was still staring at the skyline, ignoring the biting and bitter wind that was whipping leaves and paper around the two men. He lifted his nose and inhaled, not smelling cigarette smoke, but snow in the air. This city's infrastructure was not conducive to snow and more than likely, there would be a panic if such weather came. He was still in shock at the frenzy that had ensued over a week before over a few inches of flurries. Well, if he and Genevieve became snowed in, so be it. He focused on the task at hand. “Worry about Ficklebutte and Genevieve's former firm. I need to figure out a way to get her stock back from him at no cost to her.” His eyes darkened as he narrowed his visual field. “Leave the Gator to me.”

_**~~~...~~~** _

_Let my hands so delicately unwrap my most precious gift._  
 _Let me tenderly love and worship you._  
 _I have missed you so much._  
 _I would like to make love, to make up for all the time lost._  
 _Tomorrow we can fuck._  
 _Today let me love you._

_Unknown_

As much as Guy wanted to rush through dinner, he held back. Over the many years and lifetimes, he'd learned that time, atmosphere, and listening made all the difference in the world to a woman. 

So did flowers. And sweets. Especially chocolate. There was chocolate back at the suite, along with red roses. He presented her with yellow roses when he picked her up. 

'Guy?”

“Yes?” 

“Why yellow roses? You kept me in yellow roses while I was in the hospital and in rehab.” 

“Because black roses would be depressing.” She squinted at him, not making the connection. “My colors, Genevieve. Black and yellow.” 

“OH!” 

“Did you not like them? Would you pref-”

“Oh they were beautiful! I loved them.” The smile she bestowed on him made her face come alive. “They were bright and cheery and the room would have been so drab without them. I was simply curious.”

They lingered over dinner, Guy so fixated on the way Genevieve wrapped her mouth around her roasted duck, he almost forgot to eat his grilled swordfish. 

As they walked across the street to the Marriott, the wind snapped Genevieve's cream cloak about her ankles. As she drew it to her, Guy pulled her close to him, adding his warmth to hers. 

“I have seen this cloak before?” With much relief, they entered the Marriott Marquis foyer and moved towards the elevators. 

“I found it at a small shop at Phipps. It reminded me of the one you gave me in Nottingham.” Genevieve recounted seeing his ancient reflection in the mirror. 

“Have you seen me at other times?” It was not lost on the man that she smiled and then ducked her head and blushed. They stepped on the elevator with several other people, enforcing that for a few minutes, the topic was set to the side. 

They stepped off the elevator, Genevieve stepping back while he keyed the door and opened it. Before she could take a step, he scooped her up in his arms before crossing the threshold. “I missed doing this when we originally married,” he explained. As he set her down and heeled the door shut behind him, he leaned over and kissed her. “And I will do it again and again.” Genevieve found her cloak unclasped and tossed onto a chair as he backed her further into the suite. His suit jacket quickly followed.

Their room atop the Marriott was adorned in roses, red this time, and there was much chocolate at hand. Genevieve hadn't seen the room, Archer retrieving her luggage after Elyana helped her change at the office and taking it to the suite. As she pulled away from him, she looked around, taking it all in. 

“Nice.” 

Guy burst out laughing. 

The Presidential Suite took grand to an entire new level. There was a built-in library, a formal dining room, seating for eight, a grand piano...

“This is a lot of room for us.” She noticed Guy was eyeballing the table. “I don't think that-”

“You are not in a physical place to be tied on top of it, but yes, the thought crossed my mind,” Guy finished for her. Taking her by the hand, he led her into the bedroom. Leaving her in the middle of the room, he opened the curtains, revealing a night-lit skyline. Removing his tie-clip and cufflinks, he stared into the starry night. “I have always loved looking at cityscapes,” he admitted. “The world has changed, and not for the better, but some things remain beautiful. Man does not learn from his mistakes.” He turned, approached her, and taking her hand, he led her to the middle of the room. “Do not move.” The man slowly circled her, taking her in. He leaned over, taking in her unique, delicate scent. The tip of his nose lightly grazed her from her exposed shoulder, following the sinews of her neck to where her jawline met her ear. “I remember your scent. All these years, your smell is unique to you.” Suddenly, there were butterflies along her ear, warm breath tickling, caressing her skin. Guy grasped her by her shoulders, taking extra care to be gentle to her left side. “You saw me another time besides the mirror in the shop?” 

“Yes.” 

“Tell me.” 

Genevieve's jaw flapped, no sound. 

“Tell me.” 

“Last week. Before... before...” There was another, heated breath, blowing into the tiny canal of her ear, his hand, long fingers, sliding up the side of her dress, raising it to her hip. “Guy, you're distracting me.” 

There was a gentle smack to her derriere. “My lady, you know how to address me.” 

“Sir, you are distracting me.” 

Distract, nothing. She was melting into a grasp she desperately missed, thought she would never experience again. 

“I intend to continue to distract you. Look straight ahead.” She did so, seeing... “Do you see our reflection?” 

“Yes, Sir.” Their shadows, images shown clearly in the glass, were almost painted on the skyline before them. Both of Guy's arms were around her, holding her, cradling her head.

Never had she felt safer, more secure. 

_More cherished._

Guy's lips were now on the sensitive skin of her neck. “I want you to watch us in the glass and tell me where else you thought you saw me.” He inhaled, nipped the crease of skin. “Last week, before you knew who I was?” 

“Yes.” It was a bare whisper. 

“Where?” 

“My bedroom.” 

Genevieve felt him smirk against her skin. “My lady, what was my shadow doing in your bedroom?”

She felt, rather than heard the zipper of her dress slide down, open, exposing more skin to him. She saw in their reflection Guy's hand slip the silk from one shoulder and push it to the side. The material slid from her arms and pooled about her feet, leaving her clad in nothing but lace and wire. “Watching me.” 

Genevieve could see the open appreciation in her lover's gaze as it met hers in the glass. His fingertips lightly grazed her shoulder, traveling down her arm. “So soft. All these years I thought skin this soft was just a wild fantasy.” Suddenly, he grasped both bare shoulders, leaned over and stared intensely at her in the glass. His eyes could melt stone. “What were you doing?” One hand drifted, his knuckles grazing the skin, going to the back of her lace bra. 

'Uhm... I...I...”

“Ah, _this_ Genevieve I remember.” The bra loosened and Guy thrust it forward, the garment falling to the floor. “I have spent centuries wondering how a woman so brazen, full of life and sensual,” he switched ears, “could be so shy? So shy with me? Her husband?” One long arm wrapped around her waist, the other moved up and cupped her breasts. He managed to get both in one hand, pressing her nipples together and caressing them. His mouth was at her neck. “Your breasts tell me you are excited to see me.”

“Oh, so very, Sir.” 

“Are you watching what I am doing to you?” Genevieve was becoming limp, wanting more. At the question, her eyes shot open, focusing on the couple in the glass. Not wanting to play the passive lover, she reached behind her, one hand on a wool-clad hip, the other in the front.

He was hard. So hard. She grasped him, stroked him through the material of his trousers. He gasped once, before growling in her ear. “That night, the one we are talking about, what were you doing? Why was I watching you?” 

Her breathing was labored. He needed to touch her... she needed him to touch- 

Guy's hand slid down the front of her lace panties. “Black lace. Very nice. I rather like the bow on your derriere.”

[](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/ZeeDippyVessel/media/654d8173affb00b701d730b592d18c6a_zps4268a396.jpg.html)

His mouth had returned to worry her ear. “Like a bow on a festive package. Begging to be unwrapped, hiding something beautiful, desired.” His fingers breached her juncture, grazing across the thatch of hair. “No more landing strip?”

“I let it grow.” 

_Lamar liked it; insisted on it. Lamar insisted, demanded on a lot of things._

_Fuck Lamar. I don't care what he likes..._

Guy's finger slid into the crease between her legs, parting her lower lips. “Why was I watching you? What were you doing?” 

Her knees buckled. He held her up. “Genevieve?” 

“I was... playing...”

“Playing?” 

“Yes.” Her voice was sketchy, airy. 

“How were you playing?” His fingers delved, deep, finding her, finding her wet and wanting. “What were you playing?” 

“I was playing with myself.” That came out in a rush. 

His mouth was becoming insistent in her ear, his teeth scraping against her skin, the rim of-

“Ah. You were touching yourself.”

“Yesyesyesyes!” 

He removed his hand.

“NOOOOOOOOO! Please don't tease me.”

She found herself, turned, led to the bed.

“Brace yourself.” 

Genevieve bent over, expecting to be taken, but again, only fingers, stroking. 

“Tease me. Tell about that night.” 

“What's to tell?” 

There was an exasperated sigh. “Did you do anything special? Or did you simply climb in bed or the couch with an adult toy and lube?” Two fingers inserted themselves. “Tell me how you set the stage, so to speak. Prepared yourself.” 

She was pressing into his fingers. Rocking. “I... uhm... treated myself to dinner.”

“Where?” 

Her hip was not accepting the weight the way she had it placed. She spun, lifting her leg, facing him, Guy's hand still on her hip. No longer willing to be passive, she found his zipper, moving it down, fussed with the fasteners of his pants, before pulling them to the side and making her way into the waistband of his boxers.

And finding him. 

She grasped him, marveling in marble-hardness, encased in velvet. 

Hot breath in her ear. “Did I give you permission to touch me?” He made no move to remove her hands from his body. 

“No, but I need you and you could stop me easily, if you wanted me to stop.” Genevieve looked up, the lights from outside glinting in her eyes. “I went to dinner at a little Chinese restaurant near my home.” She stroked upwards, feeling the head wrapped in satin foreskin. “I went alone, alone with a naughty book.”

 

In the moonlight, she saw him grin, that side snark she loved. “What kind of naughty book?” His hands moved beneath the sides of the lace, moving it down her thighs. She never turned him loose, continued to stroke.

“A book about a couple who play like we do.”

“And the name of this book?” 

She stroked down, exposing the head. Her thumb stroked over it, making him inhale. “The Dom Who Loved Me.”

Guy was beginning to seep. “And afterwards?” He unwound his tie and yanked it open. He began to undo the pearl seed buttons of his shirt.

Genevieve sank to the bed, stepping out of her panties. She was looking straight at that wonderful cock in her hand.

“I bought some new CDs, a few books, went home-”

“What kind?” 

Genevieve drew the foreskin down, before bending over and inhaling him, sucking on him, her tongue swiping at the moisture escaping from the eye. “Jazz CD's, Miles Davis and a compilation.” She inhaled him again, swallowing him whole, going deep, before coming up for air again. “And then I lit candles, and took off my clothes. I climbed on the bed...”

“And then?” His voice was hoarse.

“And then I closed my eyes and I was in our bed in Nottingham and you sitting at the foot post, watching me.” 

Not bothering with the open shirt or the tie, Guy leaned her backwards, hands at her hips and slid her across the bed, giving him just enough room to climb up on his knees. His mouth found her breast, teeth clipping the sensitive skin, his hand teasing the other. Genevieve turned loose of his prick, grabbing his head and running her fingers through his hair. For some minutes, he nuzzled her, suckling like a child, reveling at the feel of her flesh in his mouth, the sounds coming from her throat. 

_Enough!_

He lowered himself between her legs and thrust, burying himself to the hilt. Before she could reach down, find herself, he grabbed her wrists, and pinned them over her head. The rhythm he set was not slow, not gentle, but a ride, a gallop. Again, he found her mouth, inhaling her sigh. He listened, waited for her breath to hitch, change. 

“Did you find pleasure?”

She didn't answer. She was concentrating, concentrating on him.

Concentrating on her. 

She was beginning to push, move faster. 

“Did you find pleasure?” 

She nodded.

Guy turned loose of her wrists, Genevieve's hands immediately going to his head, pulling him, his mouth to her. 

She was close. 

Guy reached down, found where they joined, found her. She bounced, squirmed as he touched her. “Did you find pleasure, Genevieve, thinking of me watching you?” 

She exploded.

_OhGodPleaseohyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyes!_

He waited until she came down, before dropping his head on her collarbone and hissing his own release in her ear. 

They stayed that way for some minutes, catching their breath, Genevieve clinging to the man on top of her. Eventually, his shirt and tie were flung to the floor, the covers pulled down and the two of them underneath, cocooning together. 

“Warm enough?” 

Genevieve snuggled, nose wiggling in contentment. She tucked her ankles between his calves. “Very.” 

“Did I hurt you?” 

“No.”

It was silent for a moment. “The Dom Who Loved Me?” 

“Yep. The next one I'm going to read is the Men with the Golden Cuffs.”

Guy's heart seized. “Men?” 

“Yep.” Genevieve noticed the change in his demeanor. “And, yes while that stuff is fun to read, I have no desire to have any man in my bed but you.” 

_Big, relieved exhale._

Genevieve began to yawn. “We're here all weekend?” 

“All weekend.” 

“Not leaving this room?” 

“Not leaving this room. Room service is excellent, we can call Domino's, or some sort of delivery, and I have made sure the refrigerator and wine bar is stocked.”

She chuckled. “Heh.” 

“Wot?” 

“Just like our wedding.” And with that, she snuggled in further and went to sleep.

Guy waited until her breathing evened out and slowed. “Aye. Just like our wedding.”

_**~~~...~~~** _

Throughout his lifetimes, Guy was never a heavy sleeper. From the moment he and Isabella were forcibly removed from their home immediately after their parents death, Guy learned to sleep with one eye open. This habit followed him over the years, over his lives.

So it surprised him, when he rolled over in the night, to find Genevieve gone from the bed. Thinking perhaps she had gotten up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, he was shocked to see her outlined in the window, staring at the night sky, and wearing his shirt. It was ridiculously long on her, but the lights from the buildings shown through the fine linen material, silhouetting her body.

With panther-like gracefulness, he rose from the bed, padded silently behind her and smiled when she jumped when he put his arms around her and lowered his chin on her head. “One hundred of your American dollars for your thoughts.” 

The comment made her laugh. Excess. As she remembered, Guy was all about excess, but he didn't squander it. “That's a lot of money. All you have to do is ask.” 

“Why are you wearing my shirt?” 

_I missed you, I missed your smell..._

“I woke up and couldn't go back to sleep. I didn't want to wake you, so I got up, but it's cold here by the window.” Genevieve placed her hands on his wrists, still continuing to look into the night. “It's so beautiful. I've not seen it from this vantage.” 

“In time, you will see the skylines of New York, Chicago, London, Paris, Sydney. I intend on showing you the world, my lady. One skyline at a time.” 

It was not lost on her that they had had dinner in the upper reaches of the sky, and that they were now spending this weekend as high in the air as possible. Val told her that Guy spent much time when she was recuperating on her balcony at her office or staring out the windows, while thinking, putting things together. “You like being high up.” 

“I like looking down.” 

“Why?” 

Genevieve felt him rocking his chin on her head. “I remember being low, being the dirt on someone's heel. I remember how Longthorn looked down on me, considered me weak and thought he could just take what was mine, because he was stronger and better than me. He thought highly of himself. I remember Vaisey finding me living in squalor, trying to find someone to teach me, take me in. He always looked down on me, as did John. I was just something for them to step on.” 

“And now, I look down on them.” Genevieve could see him, looking at her in the image in the glass. “Most do not remember or recall their reincarnations; they might have a strange sense of deja vu. Rebirth within one's own family is unheard of, yet I have been granted that gift. I also remember my previous lives with amazing clarity. I know where John is, where Vaisey is. I know where Isabella is.”

“What about Robin? Marian?” 

Now, he was staring far off, beyond the many roofs of the Atlanta skyline. “I do not look for them. I have never had a desire to. Let them enjoy their afterlife with no thought or memory of me. That is how it should be.” 

“What about me?” Guy found her looking intently at him in the glass. “Did you ever find me in your wanderings?” 

_Wanderings. What a unique way of referring to his many lives._ The Guy of Olde urged him to bite his tongue, lie, tell her no-

“Once. I found you once.” 

“So, we were married before?” That bright smile of hers would be his downfall.

“No.” He saw that radiant expression fall. “I hated my wife. She hated me. The marriage was arranged.” He then whispered in Genevieve's ear. “She was a Harridston. That line was plagued with harpy females. I feared she would bear me nothing but daughters.”

“Did she?” 

“She gave me two sons. She was always snide and nasty but after the second, she turned into a vicious shrew with an angry razor tongue, so once he was weaned, I retired her to a convent. I paid them well to keep her.” He saw Genevieve open her mouth in protest, but he cut her off. “My servants, people, did not like her either. She had a reprehensible tongue and was impossible to please. We all quit trying and even my eldest was grateful when I sent her away.”

“I had a knight, a good man, to be sure, but one who did not spend his money wisely. When he died in a skirmish, he left behind a daughter, whose name was Vivienne. She was kind, very proud, a hard worker and now at the mercy of every unscrupulous male in the shire.” Guy started to tell her he was one of those unscrupulous males, but he bit his tongue. “The moment I laid eyes on her, I knew her soul, knew that look. I knew who she was. She led me on a merry dance, but eventually, I managed to seduce my Vivienne and I loved her dearly until the day she died. I built a home for her and eventually our children – three daughters - nearby and she traveled with me openly when I went to London. We were quite the scandal, but neither of us cared.” 

“Your wife's family-”

“She had no family. She was given to me and I inherited a poorly kept, run-down estate and a nasty harridan to wive.” He clucked his tongue. “But it was an estate and I eventually rebuilt it.” He could tell by the tenseness in Genevieve's body that she was upset by what he just told her. “Genevieve, I have always taken my wedding vows seriously and I never sought pleasure from another's arms once married. I have been lucky with my other marriages. There was affection and friendship, but with Mellisanne...” he grimaced, just the mention of her name, “she was a horrid, spiteful human being.” 

“I remember the Harridstons.”

“Imagine both, rolled into one. And then multiplied by ten.” He bit his tongue to keep from blurting that bedding the bitch was a chore all on its own. “The only joy in that marriage was when she presented me with my sons and then when I sent her away. She was not treated badly at Ripley's; she in fact had a cottage similar to yours, only larger with nicer amenities. She continued to be well-dressed, well-fed and plenty of needlework, which she did enjoy. I would have remained alone had my knight not died and I had not overheard several of my younger retainers speaking of his daughter, as if to divvy her up like pie. What began as a mission to ensure her safety became a seductive game in which I wanted her for myself. I made sure she was well taken care of if I passed before her, made sure our daughters were married well and happily, and generously dowered. My relationship with Vivienne was exactly what I wanted with a marriage.”

Ah. Here was the opening Genevieve was looking for. “Guy,” she began tentatively, “our... courtship was so quick, we rushed headlong into things because we knew our time was limited and we ignored many things-”

“Are you asking for a long engagement?” 

“Define long.” She felt his chest vibrate against hers. “I want a real wedding, at home, with my grandmother there and my friends. And I want to wear white.”

“I like you in red.”

“Well, fine and dandy. I'll wear red the rest of the year, but I want to wear white for my wedding.”

Guy's voice was cajoling; she knew there would be a compromise. “So we will marry here in the summer, as you wish.” He pulled her tighter into him. “Due to who I am, I would like to have a renewal of vows in mid-November at the small chapel on my Nottingham property. You will wear red.” 

Genevieve chuckled deep. Somehow, she saw that one coming. But her laughter quickly died away when he began to speak again. 

“Genevieve, I need you to understand what I want in a marriage and I wish to be open with you and pray we are on the same page. I have had eight hundred years to refine my tastes, my likes and dislikes. I have lived eight centuries to prepare for and execute the events of today and for this night to happen. And now that those goals have been reached and your place solidified, I want to move forward with us. You are correct in the knowledge we, as a couple, moved very quickly, not knowing each other well, but I am not in a mood to wait. I desire to marry you, I desire children, at least two or three. I want an equal, an intelligent woman by my side, on my arm, one who will converse with me, talk to me, give me her opinion. Sex does not define a relationship and I know there will come a time when it will be less and less important and the ability to communicate and need to talk and share common interests will take precedence. I want to develop that, create that with you. This is your company, not ours, not mine. My investment was to make sure it was not stolen from you and I will continue to invest in it to make sure of that. But that is my only interest in it. Nor do I wish to control you, dictate your every move. I do not wish a slave or a puppet. You are an intelligent, buoyant woman and I love to watch you think.

“But behind closed doors, you are mine. This,” and with this, he reached down, cupping her mound, “is mine, it belongs to me. It was made for my pleasure and mine only. I am told I did not share as a child; I believe I do not wish or desire to share something precious to me as a man. I have spent the many years studying, researching, experiencing this game you like to play. Every mouth I have kissed was preparing me for you. Every body I ever plowed into taught me how to love you. 

“I have seen enough bruises on your body to last a lifetime, therefore it is not my intention to inflict them. It is not my desire or intention to have you crawling around on the floor on your hands and knees. I fear it will pain you unnecessarily and while there are times I would like you on your knees before me, it will be for other purposes and precautions for your comfort and ability to comply will be taken. Do not cower before me. I have had enough of that as well. I do not wish a little girl, although I admit I would love to see you on our bed wearing naught but a fox tail and fox ears. I want a woman, a woman who trusts me to allow me to be in charge, to take charge, and to ensure her pleasure. I want a woman who is willing to play and discuss her fantasies with me, no matter how perverse she might be afraid they are. I have every intention of spanking that delectable arse... biting it, licking it. I might collar you, for while you are not property, you do belong to me, every bit of you...I love you. I love you for who you are and whoever you are destined to become. 

“Know that I will never share you, never allow another to delight in your body or take someone else to enjoy mine. I will not allow anyone to watch us. I will never record us. I do not get this silly need to expose everything on the internet! Such exhibitionism is... ” This bit of indignation caused Genevieve to laugh loudly. “Wot is so funny? I am being serious!” 

“My Neanderthal lives! YES!” She turned in his arms and threw hers around his neck. She found herself backed into the cold glass and thoroughly kissed. 

After a few minutes, Guy raised his head and whispered. “I will never hurt you. In everything we do, I will always put you first.” He reached out his hand and tapped on the glass. “Down off Cheshire Bridge Road is a BDSM club that I wish to take you to. It will be an eye-opening, learning experience for you, a way for you to observe first hand, the many different types of a D/s relationships. We need to discuss your safe word; you use it from everything between ' _I am scared_ ' to ' _That hurts_ ' to ' _I need a breather_ '. 

A memory came back. “I said that to you in the hospital, didn't I?” 

“In the hospital. In the car.” 

_Banana, Guy. Bananananananana..._

“It grieved me that I could not ease your pain in any way.” 

“Yes, you did.” Genevieve laid her head on his chest, listening to the wonderful sound his heart beating. “You were there. So, you won't try to take over my company.”

“No. I will ensure no one takes over.” 

“I want children, Guy. I would, however, like a few months alone with you before we begin trying.'

“January next year.”

“And at home, my opinion matters.” 

“Your opinion will always matter, your needs will always matter. I am not an ogre, Genevieve or much of a control freak.” She howled at that. “Your pleasure is my responsibility. It is something I take seriously.” He then pulled away from the glass. That portion of the room was becoming uncomfortably cold. Reaching past her, he flicked the heat up and turned her towards the bed. “I want to know what music you like, if you enjoy concerts or the museum or the symphony. The Ballet. There is theater here, in New York and London. I will never ask you to drop everything at a moment's notice. Do you read, do you enjoy art? We have much to do and learn about each other.”

“What do you like, Guy?” 

There it was, in the shadows. That snarky little side-grin. “I like you, m'lady. Come to bed.”

As they crawled underneath the blankets and snuggled up, Guy kissed the top of her head. “There is one small thing.”

“What is that?” She was yawning and beginning to nod off. 

“We will need to look for a home. I do not believe either of our condos will suffice.”

_**~~~...~~~** _

_**Somewhere in the Stratosphere** _

_**~~~...~~~** _

**  
_The Dom who Loved me_   
** And _  
**The Men with the Golden Cuffs**   
_ are part of the Masters and Mercenaries Series by Lexi Blake. I whole-heartedly recommend them. Certainly much better written and researched than a certain piece of tripe I won't mention.

 _Vous souhaitez garder cela, Guy_? – Would you like to keep it?

_Ah bon. J'ai votre attention._ – Ah good. I have your attention.

_Je suis désolé_ – I am sorry


	40. 39 - And where thou lodgest, I will lodge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N - Again, I wish to thank all who are reading. Thank you for the kind words and kudos.

_**Manna From Heaven** _

_**Chapter 39** _

_**and where thou lodgest, I will lodge** _

[ ](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/ZeeDippyVessel/media/Fic%20Artwork/tumblr_n01j73A6xn1s3nudho1_500_zps526c8944.jpg.html)

Genevieve rolled over into a familiar embrace and pillar of warmth. That Man still looked gorgeous in the morning, even with mussed hair and stubble.

 

“Good morning, my lady.”

 

She stretched, arching her back much like a cat. “Good morning!” 

 

“Pleasant dreams?” 

 

Big grin. “Only the best.” 

 

Guy's hand drifted down to her hip. “And what did you dream of?”

 

She allowed him to pull her beneath him, spread her like an open book. “I tasted you in my dream, so I woke up knowing what I wanted for breakfast.”

**_~~~...~~~_ **

The next time she awoke, it was to the smell of coffee and the feeling of butterfly kisses along her brow. Genevieve opened her eyes just smidgeon. “Oooooh. Coffee!” She sniffed once. “And bacon!”

 

“What are you looking at?” 

 

“Something beautiful!” 

 

“Hmmmph.” Guy stood up, going to the buttons on his jeans and began to peel them off. “You look as if you wish to eat me.” 

 

“I believe I did that earlier this morning. I'll probably do it again before the sun goes down.” She perused his form again. “Why are you dressed? I thought this was one of our 'naked' weekends?” 

 

“I did not wish to greet the bellhop clad in my skin.”

 

With this admission, Genevieve smiled. “Well, I do believe, my good knight, that you look positively delish in your jeans and bare feet. I might have to buy a baseball bat to keep the women off of you.” 

 

Guy snorted again, but he smiled and actually appeared to blush. He stepped out and kicked them to the side. “It is my understanding you own a gun.”

 

“I do. A 9MM Glock and a Smith and Wesson.” 

 

“I do not understand Americans fascination with guns.” 

 

“No fascination about it. Just a fact of life.” Genevieve shrugged. “Self protection. If I expect to work late, I carry one or the other. It's probably a good thing I didn't have it when Ficklebutte showed up on Monday.” 

 

“The very thought terrifies me.” 

 

“What? Me having a firearm or me shooting Ficklebutte?” 

 

“Both.” The man was not happy. “I fear I would have walked into the room with bullets ricocheting from wall to wall!” 

 

Genevieve sat up too quickly and had to watch the room spin. She wasn't aware Guy's arm reached out, giving her something to hold on to. “I go to a shooting range monthly, so I'm quite an accurate shot. As for Ficklebutte, I wouldn't have killed him, just put a bullet in his ass!” 

 

This was a conversation he did not want to have at this time, but knew would come up too soon. “I do not like the thought of you owning a gun. They are dangerous things, they-”

 

“I recall, you telling me when I was at Locksley, your father gave your mother a rather wicked looking knife for protection. Same thing. I saw it. It was-”

 

“It is still in the family,” he snapped. “Firearms notwithstanding, breakfast is on the table and getting cold.” His arm was still out. “Will you join me?” 

 

So naked, the two of them sat at the large table, huddled next to each other, eating what Guy called an 'American breakfast', which Genevieve took to mean it was different than what the English called breakfast. 

 

He tried to bring up the gun once again, only to be smartly rebuffed. 

 

“You don't own me, remember?” 

 

Guy's fork hit the table with a clatter. “Never forget who cares for you. Never forget who loves you.” 

 

“And never forget,” Genevieve's voice softened, “you can't be with me 24/7.” It was silent for a few moments. “Considering everything in your past, why are you so bothered about me owning a gun?”

 

He was still glaring across the table. “Because, it is not right. I know about your 'feminism' and your 'women's rights' and in your eyes, I am a caveman and a Neanderthal, but it is wrong that you should have to defend yourself! That is my job! My responsibility is to take care of you and ours!” She watched as he forced himself to relax. “Please, let _me_ protect you.”

 

“Oh.” This was shaky ground Genevieve knew she would have to hold his hand and walk him through if they were going to meet at some middle ground. In truth, even after as many years and lives the man had lived, she didn't think 'middle ground' was much of a concept for him. She put her own silverware down, softly. “I promise not to carry it if we're together. And if it scares you so much, we'll go to the shooting range together, okay?” 

 

“Scare? No. Bother? Yes!” Guy retrieved his fork and began wiping it off. “Oh, we will definitely be going to the shooting range together. I am sure Archer will join us. He is the better shot.” He grabbed hold of her hand. “Say nothing to Mother.” 

 

“It scares you?” 

 

“NO!” Guy was aghast. “She'll want to join in the party.” He lowered his voice. “Mother is a wicked shot with a cross-bow. She insisted Father teach her!” He dug back into his eggs. “The woman is disgustingly blood thirsty! I remember when I was fourteen, we had an intruder. She shot him in the shoulder, much the same place Hood shot you. Constable Bailey had a time keeping that quiet.” For a moment, Guy's thoughts were far away, remembering... “Father had been dead less than a month. The man she shot admitted he thought we would be an easy target with no man in the home. Of course, in time he then claimed he said it under duress; he was drugged. Bailey suggested she install a security system next time. She told him she 'had' a security system. The crossbow worked just fine.” He was shaking his head in memory. “Woman would be beyond gleeful to be handed something that projects shrapnel at hundreds of miles an hour!”

 

“I like your mother.” 

 

“She likes you.” 

 

Genevieve wasn't finished eating, but she watched the man next to her continue to eat. “The two of you have been watching me for a long time, haven't you?” 

 

“Since you were in high school. Senior year.” 

 

“Really?” Genevieve returned to her meal. “That's kinda creepy.” 

 

“The last month of my life, I was an outlaw, part of Hood's Gang.” He took in Genevieve's shocked look. “Long story, worthy of the bath. Regardless, he asked me something that stood out. He did not remember you, but he made a comment that stuck. 'What is a 'bean ball'? That was a Genevieve statement, if I ever heard one.” 

 

“You knew I played softball in high school.” 

 

“I watched you play softball in high school.” 

 

It was quiet for a moment, the only sound that of Guy's fork, scraping across the plate. “How many times did you spy on me, over the years?” 

 

“A few times. I tried not to. I was terrified you would catch me and think I was quite insane. You were more likely to believe me after the accident.” He was focusing on last of his plate. “It was so hard to wait. I waited so long.” 

 

Genevieve stood up, taking the empty plates. “We are butt-naked. Shall we shock whoever is out by the elevator and put the cart out and make sure the _Do Not Disturb_ tag is on the door?” She leaned over and kissed him. “And then, I'd like to take a bath. Would you like to join me?”

_**~~~...~~~** _

There were candles, he made sure the rim of the tub was covered with lit candles. And foam.

 

His hands caressed her, her breasts, her arms, her stomach.

 

_Do you know what this is? This is where our babies will grow. I cannot wait to see you ripe._

 

And he talked, talked about 800 years of living, starting with his life after Genevieve's return. 

 

_I loved you so much, love you so much and I realized that my home is where you are. I had to find you again._

 

He talked of his rise to Sheriff, his sudden change of mind, the rise of his conscience. He spoke of Isabella's elevation in John's eyes, her becoming sheriff, her attempt to bedhead him, his escape.

 

He told her of Meg. 

 

He whispered of being an outlaw, that narrow rope he clung to, knowing that some in the gang did not trust him. 

 

He spoke of his death, that first one, of his mother, his guardian angel, pulling his spirit from the wreckage, Hood's gang taking his body to Ripley's.

 

His rebirth. Upon his rebirth, it began. Life.

 

They moved from the bathtub, made love, slept wrapped in each other. There was lunch brought up, after which, they explored the library in the suite. For a time, they lay, curled together on the couch, so intertwined that it was only the hairiness of the man, that showed where one ended and the other began. It became a game for the two to swap books every 30 minutes, Guy humorously reading the erotic passages of Genevieve's book aloud, while Genevieve read the same chapter in his over and over and over. 

 

“For seven lives, I wondered how on earth I could possibly sve you.” The admission came from nowhere. At the moment, Genevieve was studying over the menu, trying to decide what she wanted for dinner. Guy was looking over the skyline, yet again. “I studied the contract, made notes. I spent seven lives, building a power base, establishing an empire, to simply buy you. Buy him out.” Now she looked up, looking at him intently. “You were so close when you told him your third option, you have no idea. Only I was prepared to completely buy him out.” With his hands behind his back, he turned and looked over his shoulder. “I figured out centuries before, that if someone had enough of your stock to oust you, what was stopping me at buying up enough of that person's stock to oust them? Not to mention, you stated very clearly that your release was private and the stock was in your opinion privately owned. Yet the demand to turn over your stock and your employees stock was reiterated over and over in the contract. I came to the conclusion early in this game that the thing Ficklebutte acted was if he owned you. The only way he could own you was if he thought that he had more stock in your company than you did. Somewhere, there was a leak of sorts and someone did something unethical.” He turned to face her, his right index finger shaking and stabbing for emphasis. “He's been collecting your stock for some time. Two years. Every time you have released to add, he's slivered some out. So have a few other people. He boded his time until he had just enough and when George's wife went critical, he made his move. But I made my move over a century ago, when I finally realized while I was standing on the top of Stone Mountain in 1864, was yes, I could simply buy out Ficklebutte or his company, which is what I had been planning to do for six hundred years, but would it not be easier and less expensive if I simply invested quietly in yours to give you the advantage of rebuffing his so-called offer, as well as building a financial power base in case he could not be persuaded to leave you be?” 

Genevieve thought back, Ficklebutte's obvious initial comfort with Guy's mother, his assuming she would simply acquiesce and side with him. It was almost as if they were on friendly terms. “Guy, how much does your investment firm have sunk in Slayman, Raschburg, and Ficklebutte?”

“41.7%. She has been buying for years, under various titles, names, corporations. The three partners have 49% total, however, Mother has Silas Raschburg wrapped around her finger. Has since she started investing in the company at its conception.” Reaching out, he walked over to Genevieve, lifting her from the chair and leading her to the window. “I will talk to her on Monday and find out what happened after our meeting with Ficklebutte. Regardless, several members of our group also have a sizable investment in that firm and would side with us. I was and still am prepared to remove who I wish and take them over. Ficklebutte has made a powerful enemy in me and he is probably just now realizing it.” He was now staring back out over the skyline. “So much has changed since I saw this city last. The town is so much bigger. Taller.” 

Something he said earlier came back. “You witnessed the Burning of Atlanta? From Stone Mountain?” 

Guy had returned to staring out the window. “Atlanta was not the capital of Georgia at the time, but it was a power trade center for the south. All of the railroads connected here and it was vital to General Sherman to take them out.”

[ ](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/ZeeDippyVessel/media/CycloramaCropped-f6s_zps2c60359b.jpg.html)

__

A portion from The Cyclorama Battle of Atlanta

Genevieve was at his side immediately, one of his hands crushed between hers. “Please tell me you did not fight alongside the Yankees during the War of Northern Aggression!”

“War of Northern Aggression,” he snickered softly. “A true Daughter of the South, you are, to see it as such. I have stayed out of American Politics, thank you very much.” He vaguely acknowledged her presence by his side. “Would that I had stayed out of British politics; however, the dabbling that I exercised early on has served me well. 'Tis better to be a good, if quiet, friend to those in charge, than a loud... blabber-mouth.” 

Genevieve chuckled beneath his arm. “Blabber-mouth. Something I would never associate with you.” 

“Silence is golden.” 

“Duct tape is silver.” That made Guy laugh. “You watched Sherman burn Atlanta?” 

“Aye.” Now he pulled her into his embrace. “Horrible, terrible battle, but had to be done. Atlanta fought for six weeks before she fell. As much as your ancestors and current countrymen talk of succession even today, you are very much like a hand. Fifty functioning fingers,” with this, he waggled them before her, “but very little power. However, draw together in single-minded anger or retort,” with this he made a white-knuckled fist, “if focused and generaled well, you are a formidable opponent.” His gaze returned to the window, staring out towards the granite mountain. In his eyes, Guy could see the smoke rising, the echos of cannons, much as it had that late summer of 1864. He had spent the day steadily drinking a lovely vintage of wine, one from his estate in France, which he found rather amusing. It was making him very talkative. “A very formidable opponent. Such a giant should never had been disturbed, but left alone.” Desiring to change the subject, he squeezed her tightly. “I have lived many lives; I will not lie, I have enjoyed most, not all. I lived them to the fullest, took what enjoyment I could, learned every lesson available, and experienced every experience that that life had to offer. But never once, did I forget you, forget WHY I was living, why I was enjoying, why I was learning and experiencing what I was experiencing. It was so I could bring all of that to you. You were always that star I was reaching and searching for.” He turned her, looked her in the eye. “All of my past experiences brought me to this point. All of my past experiences brought me to you. All of my past allowed me to make mistakes and learn from them, so that I may never make the same mistakes with you. 800 years, Genevieve, and now I am at a loss. I fear while I planned to save your company, I did not make plans past that. I needed to know where I stood with you, where we stood together.” The indrawn breath was ragged. “It seemed unwise to assume you would want me in your life here. I do not know if you will hate, be jealous of the women in my past, if you will hate the things I have done to get to this point, this spot.”

Genevieve realized that the man was standing before her raw and exposed, a difficult position for him to be in, for sure, and one she knew was foreign and uncomfortable for him. “Which is why you stayed silent for months.” _How unfair_ , she thought. _He spent 800 years to be with her and at best, they would have only forty or fifty years together._ “One of the last things I told you was to find someone to love when I left, remember? Find someone, love them, have babies and buy that vineyard in France, which you did! I don't mind tasting your past in the memory of your mouth. I can't imagine you holding on for all this time. Over time, I want to hear all about it. Every life, every escapade, every adventure, every... well not every romp...I want to know about your son, your lives, what you did, how you knew. You are here now. We have time to plan for us. Right now, welcome home.” 

Dinner waited.

Late in the evening, with both back in bed, snuggled together, Genevieve asked the question Guy had been waiting on. Now that she knew, knew about all of it, the prospect of answering it, held little to fear. 

“Tell me of your son. Where was he when I was there and why didn't you say anything?”

She was cuddled against him, not in a position or place to move, or retreat. “Two years before you arrived, I sired a child, a son, on one of the kitchen maids. She pleased me for a time, but I admit, I did not believe the child was mine until the first time I laid eyes on him and held him.” The memory, although over 800 years gone, still burned brightly. “Soon after, she left with him, disappeared. Marian and Hood hid them from me. Considering the time and the people I was involved with, it was probably a good thing no one knew, especially me. In hindsight, I suspect Vaisey or Isabella would have tortured and killed them both. I made her a promise when she placed him in my arms, a promise to educate him, care for him. Sadly, I was unable to make good on that promise until after my death. I left provisions for them both and when Seth's only son came to his majority, he claimed what was left, what I had hidden, and earned back the title of Gisborne and the lands. Sir Roland FitzGisborne, Lord of Locksley.” 

“You were Roland.”

“Yes.” 

It was quiet for a time; Guy thought she had fallen asleep. “What did you do? What did you do to earn back the title and lands?” 

He lay for a moment, relishing the feel of her curled up against his side, while he stared at the dark of the ceiling. “I was a spy for Henry III, John's successor. I found out something that would have made him look the idiot, made him lose lands and income had he followed through. The king repaid me graciously: the lands and estates of Locksley and Gisborne, my grandfather's – my - original lands, I was already a knight, but he made me a landed knight, as well as gave me a wife with lands to add to my own.” He kissed her brow. “It was a beginning, a strong foundation for me. Go to sleep.” 

He waited until her breathing evened out, listening carefully, all while staring at the ceiling, focusing on the crown molding in the trey ceiling. His mind wandered into places it hadn't drifted in years, centuries. However, the edges of his vision darkened, became fuzzy and a memory he thought long buried, came alive, as if it happened yesterday and not over eight centuries before...

_**~~~...~~~** _

“You dare,” the woman looked up from her desk, hands folded neatly, her tone of voice being the only thing to give away her ire, “to come into the house of God armed!” She nodded to the knight’s sword, still sheathed at his side.

[ ](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/ZeeDippyVessel/media/Fic%20Artwork/valientswordbyrobalexander_zps5d04b37a.jpg.html)

__

Robelexa

“My life is forfeit if I cannot defend myself.” He wore a snide grin and nodded once. “Mother.”

 

The nun did not smile, nor gave him any clue of relief when he addressed her properly. “I would suspect your life is already forfeit, Sir Guy of Gisborne.”

 

Guy gave the woman that half-smirk he was so famous for. “I would suspect you are being kinder than God and all of his angels. Would it be you, rather than Him, who would hold my fate in your hands.”

 

“What do you want?” The Abbess of Ripley Convent sat back in her chair, hands folded in her lap. Her fingers itched to clutch her rosary, rub the beads and pray. Pray over and over. This man worried her, frightened her, more than any man who ever stood before her. His reputation, his… sins… had reached the Abbey many times. There was a heaviness in the air, one that came with his arrival and she couldn’t put her finger on the exact cause.

 

“I need to right a wrong.” He reached for his shoulder, the woman realizing at the last moment that he carried saddlebags. They fell on her desk with a weighty plop, a loud sound that almost made her jump in shock. 

 

“I cannot help you, my child.”

 

The man pierced her with a gaze so dark, so… so very dark, it felt as if a cold knife had wedged into her soul. “I was sent here by one who guaranteed your succor for my… predicament.” 

 

“Who would that person be?”

 

Sir Guy continued as if she had not spoken. He began to unbuckle the saddlebags, slinging the leather, whipping the belts with such vengeance, as if forcing himself to do the chore he was set upon completing. “I have wronged many people and I am trying to right the few I can.” 

 

“Sir Guy, I do not know if I can aid you-”

 

“Forgive me, Mother, I have sired a child.” Again, the piercing gaze, eyes so blue, blue as the summer sky, ringed with lashes so thick, so black, it looked as if he had ringed his eyes in coal… for a moment, the elderly woman wished she were young again, wished she had not taken vows, this one was so beautiful, she would have gladly lain with him… “Several years ago, I fathered a child by one of the servant girls in Nottingham.” He ignored her hiss of shock. The nobility, on occasion, acknowledged their by-blows, their children beget on the wrong side of the blanket, but not if they were low-born, and only on occasion if they were born on a woman they loved. However, that this one admitted it to a nun. “She was an innocent and I promised her many things when the boy was born.” He began to pull heavy bags of coins from the bags. “I am making good on those promises.” 

 

For a moment, the Abbess watched as sack after sack came out of the saddlebags, their weightiness obvious. The intensity of the room magnified and the Abbess gasped at the shimmer that materialized at the Black Knight’s left shoulder. 

 

Since she was a child, the Abbess could see angels; there were many and this one she was well familiar with. She never told anyone; terrified she would be branded a witch. This particular one appeared when one was riding with Death.

 

So this knight was so marked and the Abbess suspected he knew it. 

 

“What do you see?” His voice was a hoarse whisper. It did not dawn on her to lie.

 

“The Angel of Death rides your left flank, child.”

 

“How close?”

 

“Close enough to touch you.”

 

The knight snorted. “Black wings, ever changing eyes?” 

 

“Yes.” The Being shook her head and stepped back. “Her sword is not out. You have time.”

 

He took the last of the rucksacks from his saddlebags, inspecting it as if to look for a hole, a weak spot in the cloth and then lying it on the desk. “Her name is Douma. She told me there are no spies here and that you can be trusted.”

 

The Abbess swallowed hard. If the knight was on a first name basis with the Angel of Death and described her so aptly, he was on a mission and she must do anything to aid him. To refuse would be to anger Death herself. “Please tell me what you need.”

 

“My son’s name is Seth. His mother’s name is Annie. I promised her I would educate him, see him taken care of.” He nodded to the sacks of money lying between them. “This should more than suffice.”

 

Indeed it should. “Do you know where your son and his mother are? Do they still reside in Nottingham?”

 

“No,” he shook his head with a whisper. “I have not seen either in some years.”

 

“How am I to help you then, if you do not know where they are?” Her voice dropped. “They might not be alive.”

 

“They live.” Sir Guy picked up two random sacks and set them aside. “Hood knows where they are, I am certain. I also suspect Lady Marian did as well. I was hoping she said something to you or someone, when she was here last year, grieving the death of her father.”

 

“Lady Marian?”

 

There was something about the woman’s voice that caused Guy’s heart to seize. “Yes. Lady Marian of Knighton. ” He pushed up off the desk, fists still tight. “She resided here for some weeks after her father died.”

 

The nun shook her head, causing her rosary and crucifix to jangle. “Sir Guy, Lady Marian has never resided here, nor spent a single night within our walls.”

 

The dark knight’s eyes narrowed. “Are you sure? Positive?” He was grasping at hay straws. “Perhaps, you were not here, on a sabbatical-”

 

“Sir Guy. I took my holy orders in this convent over forty years ago. I have been Abbess for over ten years. I rarely leave the grounds and when I do, ‘tis only to serve the members of this community. Believe me, I know the comings and goings of my abbey and we have had no one reside here who did not take holy orders in over five years.” She watched his fist clench, his jaw tighten-

_  
She lied to me… lied to me. If she were not here, where was she?_

 

The truth hit him.

 

_HOOD!_

 

There was a renting in his soul, his heart. What loyalty, feelings he felt for Marian were… changing…not hate, not fury, just…

 

_Resignation. She was not his and truly never was._

 

“Could you have misunderstood? Could she have gone elsewhere-”

 

“No, she said she came here.” His smile was grim. “I have a letter from her, stating she was here. It was sealed by your signet.”

 

The nun’s hand went to her mouth. “Two years ago, I was accosted by a man. He stole my signet.”

 

_Alan A - Dale. He played both sides of that fence well. As are you now._

 

Guy’s smile was insincere. “Do not worry yourself. I should have expected it.” 

 

“We appear to be at an impasse, then. I do not know how to help you.”

 

Sir Guy picked up the two sacks of money and set them before the woman. “These are for you, for the Abbey, for your aid.” The woman gasped at the unexpected generosity. “Listen carefully. This-” he gestured to the large sum of money on the desk, “is to pay for the education of my son, as well as his training as a knight, whoever he can find to train him, if he desires.” His finger went up, to keep the woman from interrupting him. “There are those who know where he and his mother are. They will inform her. This,” he waved over the money, “must be hidden and kept safe, until it is claimed.”

 

“I can do that.” Already the abbess was considering the catacombs, the graves that no one knew about beneath the abbey. It would be safe there. This sum should be more than enough to educate the boy. 

 

Seeing the abbess was cooperating, Guy relaxed a bit. “There is one other thing.” The nun looked at him expectantly. “I do not wish for my sister, the Sheriff of Nottingham, Prince John-” with that name, the woman hissed again, “to find out about this, or my son. His life would be a living hell.” 

 

“Your secret is safe.”

 

“He is my only heir.” 

 

“What?” This was… shocking indeed. An illegitimate child… _a bastard_ … to be named… again, it wasn't unheard of for the nobility to take care of their by-blows, acknowledged children not born in a union not blessed by the church, but only the king had the power to grant titles on anyone! Sweet Jesu! Old Henry I claimed more children than... that one could merely _look_ at a woman and impregnate her! But for one as Sir Guy to declare such as one as his sole heir?

 

“He is my heir,” the knight repeated. “As you stated, I ride with the Angel of Death by my side. She could take me any time.” With this, he glanced over his left shoulder, as if to acknowledge the presence. “Although, I pray she grants me enough time to complete a few tasks.” He turned back to the stunned Abbess. “I have fathered no other children that I am aware of and there will be no others, therefore, if the title and name of Gisborne is to continue, it must be done through Seth.” Again, the side smirk played on the knight’s mouth. “What should we do to guarantee that?”

 

The woman thought for a moment. “A contract of sorts, I suspect. A will.” She stood up and went around the right side of the desk, giving the knight as well as the Angel a wide berth. “Wait here.” She left, coming back several minutes later with parchment, a quill, and an inkwell.

 

For some time, the unlikely pair – a devout, religious nun and the Right Hand of the Sheriff of Nottingham and the secret Fist of Prince John plotted and wrote out a deed, claiming Seth, son of Annie and Sir Guy of Gisborne, was indeed heir to the Gisborne title, if earned, lands, and entitled to the wealth of Sir Guy of Gisborne on his death. 

 

When it was complete, the knight reached for the neck of his jacket, pulling out a long leather thong. On the end, with several items, including a key, dangled a signet ring with the Gisborne crest. Along with it came a fine silver chain with a dainty cross, tangled with the leather strand. It was too elegant, feminine, for a man such as he to wear and it confused the Abbess. The Black Knight did not seem the sort to wear such. She watched as he reverently disentangled the chain from the leather and placed it back under his jacket and shirt, hiding it yet again. “Wax? I wish to seal this properly.” 

 

Using a red taper, she spilled the wax from it into the bottom of the will and testament of the Knight, leaving all of his possessions, his lands and titles to a child he had not seen since he was babe and acknowledging his existence as heir. She then watched as Gisborne slid the ring on his finger and pressed it into the hot wax, leaving his mark next to his signature. Without waiting for the wax to cool, he put the signet back on the thong and replaced it around his neck, again tucking it inside his jacket. “I will try to inform those who know where my son is to notify him or his mother of his birthright.” He retrieved his now empty saddlebags and turned away, to leave, but stopped halfway to the door. “Mother.” It was a statement, a pained murmur. 

 

“Yes, my son?”

 

“Tell her… I am sorry.” This was heartfelt and the sound of it wrenched the woman’s heart. The regret in the main’s eyes spoke volumes and she had no doubt of his sincere agony over this. “I am sorry what I put her through, what I put him through. I used him as bait to lure my enemy. It was never my intention…” his voice drifted off. “I do not blame her for running and hiding from me. Hiding him was the wisest thing she has ever done. I do not blame her for hating me. I hate me. Tell her I am sorry. Tell her to keep him hidden, keep who he is secret as long as she can.” He turned again to leave.

 

“Sir Guy?” He stopped, not looking back. “The crucifix you are wearing.” With this, a true smile played on the man’s lips. “I apologize, but I am rather surprised you wear one. It does not seem to be-” 

 

“It was a gift,” he looked over his shoulder so the woman could see the smile. “Someone dear gave it to me and I hope to join her sooner than later.”

 

"Sir Guy," The woman did not stop to think that she called the man by his title, rather than that which her training told her to call him. Indeed, to call this man 'child' or 'my son' was truly bordering on the ridiculous. "I misjudged you. It seems that you have made your peace with God, after all. You appear to be at harmony with yourself."

 

The heartbreaking grimace caught the old woman off guard. "Peace? Harmony? No. This life is a misery." It was spat, albeit, spat with caution. "I cannot escape my demons, my sins, the wrong or the ill that I have caused. I cannot undo what I've done. It will be a relief and a blessing, a blessing I do not deserve, to be able to wipe the slate clean and start over somewhere else, with someone who loves me, despite everything I have done." With this, he stepped from the room, the Angel of Death – Douma – fading into the air and the profound angelic power in the office disappearing. 

 

The Abbess sat for a moment, listening. When she heard noise outside her window, she rose from her chair, went to the casement and watched as the Dark Knight mounted his horse. He had no guardsmen, no outriders with him, proving this was between him and her. She made a note to herself to make sure the young novice who answered the bell would forget he ever came to Ripley’s Convent.

 

“Abigail.”

 

The Mother Superior went stiff. Abigail was her name, her birth name and no one had called her that in over five decades. Indeed, many here would not know that was her name. 

 

“Abigail.”

 

The voice was ancient, full of mischief, but held great power as well. Slowly she turned to see the Angel of Death – Douma – standing where the knight had stood in front of her desk, not so many minutes before. Those eyes were constantly changing colors, sparks and thunderbolts flashing within them. She clasped her rosary and began to sink.

 

“Do not. Rise.” Somehow, the elderly woman was able to stand up; an invisible hand gripping her elbows. She was terrified to turn to see who it might be. “Put this away,” she gestured to the money and the signed testament, “immediately. He will be back. Twice. Call your most senior nuns for this task, none of the young. His son will be found by good men and the boy’s mother _will_ be here before summer's end to see for herself.” She shook her head. “She does not read. You and the Friar will have to tell her what it says.” 

 

“Will she accept it?” For some odd reason, this huge amount of money made the Abbess uncomfortable. If the Sheriff or the Prince knew about it, they would take it by force. 

“Yes. She will leave it for her son to decide but she will take her stipend. She thinks her love for Sir Guy is long gone, although this,” her hand swept the signed document, “will ease her heart and soften it towards the father of her child.” She sighed, her eyes changing again. “Truthfully, Seth will have little to do with it. Knighthood and the Gisborne name will entice him not one whit. But it will,” with this she smiled, “attract Sir Guy’s grandson, Roland. And he will achieve everything Sir Guy ever desired and begin to restore the Gisborne name.” The angel perused the office before continuing. "Make a place for him in the catacombs. Claim his body when the time comes. Take his crucifix and signet and put it with his gift." She then stared at the woman, her eyes turning a vivid red. "Do not leave him to rot in the castle when it is over." With this proclamation, the Angel faded, silvery dust flying from the skylight. 

 

Abigail waited for several minutes, waited for the air to settle, before coming to grips what had happened in the last two hours in her study and gently rolling up the will of Sir Guy of Gisborne, went into the priory proper, to hunt her two best friends who had been novices with her so many years ago to take this gift silently into the catacombs.

_**~~~...~~~** _

They spent Sunday discussing the parameters of their private relationship, what he expected,

_Tell me when you like something. Tell me when you do not and why you do not like it. Does it hurt? Does it make you uncomfortable? Does it make you feel awkward, strange? Tell me when you are turned on. Tell me when you want me. Tell me when you need cuddling, are scared, need a hug. Unfettered communication is a demonstration of trust, acceptance, and love. Do not feel ashamed to tell me you wish to try something different, no matter how perverse you think it might be. To fear telling me says you do not trust me. You bear enough responsibility with the running of your company. I need you to trust me enough to lay that weight down when you come home to me and allow me to make the decisions to take care of you._

-and what she expected.

_I need to know I matter, I need to be accepted for who I am, what I am. I need you to talk to me, tell me you love me. Don't ignore me or take me for granted. I know you are closed-lipped and you are used to keeping secrets and things close to you and I understand why in the past, you kept certain secrets, you had to. But it hurts to know you had a son you said nothing about. Not until Friday. It angers me you kept yourself hidden from me until Monday, when you walk into my office and frightened me! I thought I had gone insane, hearing your voice in my office, in my world and my time! Yes, I know we've discussed it and now I understand it, but still... I need to know when you've had a bad day, a rough day, a good day. I need to know if you don't like my cooking. If that's the case, you can cook! I don't like to be yelled at, I'll yell back.  
_  
When communication stops, so does the relationship.   
_  
I'm not a pain-slut!_  
 _  
Noooooooooooooo, my lady. You are not!_  
 __  
Sometimes, it's nice to be defended against idiots!

Long, drawn-out stare.

_And what do you think I was doing in your office Friday morning?_

Genevieve started to retort, 'I meant against the Gator!', but clicked her teeth instead. “Yes. Thank you. I can't thank you enough.” 

“You can spend the rest of your life trying and I will appreciate every moment of it.” At that point, he rolled between her legs and began to kiss her collarbone. “And that was not what you were going to say.”

“Shut up and kiss me.” 

“Nor was that what you were going to say. You will tell me now.” 

She bit her lip. “I meant against the Gator.” It was whispered. 

Guy heard the hurt in that admission, the quiet fury. “I am not Lamar. I never have been and I never will be. He is a coward and that is something I never have been. You deserve better. You have better. You have me. I will defend you and stand in your corner always. Even against my family, should they turn into idiots. Now, lift your chin so I can kiss you.” She obviously needed cuddles and reassurance more than sex at this moment. “As your Sir, it is my job to protect and shelter you from such stumbling blocks. And, by the way, my lady, I do own you. Do not fight it or question it.” 

And before she could object, he kissed her.

_**~~~...~~~** _

Monday came too soon.

They watched the sunrise standing at the window, naked, drinking coffee poured into the hotel's finest china. Already, the Connector was filling up, jammed with busy commuters making their way into town. 

There had been much talk amidst the loving, laughter mixed with contented sighs. Genevieve's body ached and in a good way. Her suitcase lay open on the bed, her work clothes, shoes, and underclothes on the bed, next to it. She set her cup down and stretched, her back cracking. As she turned, she discovered Guy kneeling in front of her with her underwear. “Step in.” 

Placing her hand on his head to balance herself, she perked, “Thank you!” He kissed his way up her body before towering completely over her. “Your legend lies! You are a total sweetheart!” 

Guy chuckled at that. “Please don’t expect me to always be good and kind and loving. There are times when I will be cold and thoughtless and hard to understand.”

“There will be times I will be in my own cave, trying to work out details. Hopefully, they'll happen at the same time and we can retreat to our own spot without upsetting the other.” He stared at her, jaw working. “Well, spit it out!” 

Guy put his arms around her and pulled her close. “I intend on breaking down every, single wall you have and my lady, you do have them. But as I break them down, I will help you rebuild and learn and grow from the experience that made you put them up to begin with. You need no walls. You simply need me.” He then proceeded to kiss her. 

When he finally let her up for air and reached for her bra, he heard her mutter, “My Neanderthal is back! Huzzah!”

_**~~~...~~~** _

“Lunch or dinner?” Guy pulled up in front of the Equitable Building, came around and was holding her briefcase and coffee as she maneuvered from his car. He ended up setting both on the roof and used both hands to ease her out.

“I have an appointment with the District Attorney in 45 minutes and court after lunch. I do not know how long that will take, so I shall call you.” He sniffed the air with a snarl. “I smell snow.”

“As I've not paid attention to the weather, I'll look it up when I get in the office and get the computer fired up.” She raised her chin for her morning goodbye kiss. “I don't have any pressing meetings, so ping me when you can.” 

Guy watched as she slowly went into the front doors of the building. 

“I'll make sure she gets in.” The voice came from nowhere, almost startling the man. 

“Bradley.” Guy acknowledged. He was carrying a briefcase and a pet carrier, shrill yowling issuing from it. “Is she ever quiet?” 

“When you are feeding her or she's in your lap, curled up asleep.”

“Good weekend?” 

“Great weekend.” The man looked up and looked at the sky. “Gonna snow tomorrow. Bigger than the last one. I see me going to the grocery store and stocking up.” Beneath his coat, Guy saw him shudder. “That's going to be a test.” 

“There are people ready to lend a hand or ear if you need one.” Guy's cellphone began to vibrate madly in his pocket. 

“I know there are. But they have lives as well.” Another indignant howl rose from the carrier. “I better get this little lady in where it's warm and make sure Gen gets in as well. Ciao!” The door had barely come to a close when Guy rushed around to his side of the car and got in. 

He plugged his phone into the Bluetooth and checking his voicemail, dialed the number from the last message and pulled from the curb. “Archer. Give me some good news!” 

“Going to snow like hell's frozen over tomorrow!” 

Guy flinched. “That is _not_ good news.” 

“Sure it is!” Archer's voice was jubilant. “More time for you to be snowed in with your sexy lady. Or are you already tired of her?” 

Guy glared at the radio. “No!”

“Where are you?” 

One way streets would be the death of the man. He turned right on the small side street and made his way around the block, around Genevieve's office. “I am in my car, on my way to the D.A's.” 

_In short, we need to speak in code._

“Sounds like a fun day for you! I found the key to the old man's storage unit and managed to pull out a lot of boxes from it. I am quite certain I managed to get all of them. If you'll give me time to go through the containers and sort what's pertinent and what is not-”

“I want them all.”

“Boss! There is quite a bit of trash in here. I don't think he tossed anything, which is good, however it will make it harder to find that receipt you're looking for!” 

Guy was waiting at the red light, watching Marta rail riders and Georgia State students run from point A to point B, bundled up and dragging briefcases, files on roll along carts and carrying book bags. 

_He hacked into Ficklebutte's computer and managed to download and copy his email and his files. Apparently, he has a lot on his computer, most of it unnecessary..._

“I do not care. I have a meeting with the D.A. this morning and I have to file briefs in court this afternoon. Can you bring the boxes to me before dinner or drop them off at my office or Genevieve's office sometime today?” 

There was a low whistle on the phone. “No can do, bro!” 

“Archer. Your attempt at American slang is gruesome to the ears.” 

“It doesn't matter. Snow is coming in and I need to be in Berlin for a paying gig for a few weeks.” Guy heard a door slam in the background. “I'm at Hartsfield International flying out in the next 90 minutes. Look. The job is a repair-”

_… cleanup from poor security..._

“-and I don't expect it to be painful or long.”

“Just a few weeks.” 

There was a long expulsion of air. “When it's done, I'm going to take a few days and go skiing in France. I have been going non-stop since last spring and I need a break. When I am done, I am going to drop by the family vineyard. The security system there hasn't been serviced in a year and I want to look it over. When I finish there, I intend on going home, to the main estate, Locksley, Gisborne, and the two townhouses in London, yours and mother's, as well as my place. Check them as well. Something feels wrong and I can't put my finger on it.”

“Archer-”

“I will be back in three weeks, March, the second week, at the latest. You know more what you're looking for than I do, but I can give it a quick look-see and toss the stuff that really isn't worthwhile.”

“Everything is worthwhile.” _I might find something to hold over the slimy bastard!_

“Not what I've looked at so far!” Archer was obviously exasperated. “Look! I need to check my luggage. I'll email. Check on Mum. Go get snowed in with that sweet Southern Belle of yours and knock her up! See you in a few weeks.” And with that, the man hung up.

Guy stared as his radio. “Neanderthal!” He was stopped at another red light. He picked up his phone, dialed another number, waiting for the party on the other side to pick up. “Mum? Where are you?” 

“Not in Atlanta, darling.” Guy could hear china clinking and realized she was probably at breakfast. “It is going to snow starting tomorrow and according to the news sources, Atlanteans are rather unstable when it snows there.” 

“Their infrastructure is not set up for it. Where _are_ you?” 

“I am in New York! At least when it snows here, the city does not shut down! They know how to handle a few snowflakes. I need to shop – yes, another cup of tea, darling, thank you - and see a few Broadway plays. Let me know when the wedding date is set and where it will be. Tell Genevieve I wish to go shopping with her, if she doesn't mind. We need a girl in this family!” 

“You need a shopping buddy.” 

“That as well! You and Archer were no fun to shop for. You prefer dark colors; in fact, as long as it was black, you were content, and Archer simply did not give a shite!” There was more silverware clinking. 

“Have you heard anything about the fallout from your talk with Silas?” 

“But of course I have! I have been invited to a retirement party at the end of the month! I will be back in Atlanta then. Perhaps Genevieve and I can go shopping at that time! I must go! I would like to eat. Kisses.” 

_Click._

Guy came up on the parking deck and pulled in, hoping that at the very least, the district attorney would shed some light on the events coming up. Surely, they would decide to investigate and Archer managed to extract the information before anyone else got into the system.

_**~~~...~~~** _

Bradley met Genevieve outside the elevator, as did Val. As a result, she was carrying nothing when she stepped onto the car and gave the appearance of moving leisurely without much of a limp.

Much.

“Good morning, Genevieve.” 

Gen nodded to her receptionist and unlocked the door, standing to the side while Bradley and Val entered. Maleficent was excited to get out of her taxi and took off around the office, immediately seeing birds on the balcony. She ran to the window, watching, her tail flicking anxiously. 

“I'm thinking a kitty stand right there.”

“In a few places, I'm sure.” Bradley picked up the kitty carrier and pressed the door shut. “I hear there is coffee cake and hot chocolate in the break room.”

Genevieve snapped her briefcase open and turned on her computer, waiting for everything to come up. “Good Lord, I'm going to be fat. Both!” She opened up the first notice on her computer. “Oh God. It's supposed to snow! Again! Insanity! Emily!”

“Yes, ma'am?” The young woman was immediately in Genevieve's office, looking concerned. 

“According to reports, it's supposed to snow tomorrow. Find out how bad, how long we can be expected to be shut down this time, and how long schools are projecting to close. I wasn't in the mess the first time, but I don't want a repeat of three weeks ago! I don't want any of you stuck in midtown with stranded kids at school!” 

“We were the laughing stock of the nation.” 

Genevieve rolled her eyes. “Watch how much they will whine when it reaches 90 degrees!” She sensed rather than saw Emily return to her desk. As she turned back to her computer, Maleficent ran across the room and after wiggling her butt, she jumped in Genevieve's lap, missing her lap completely, but clinging to her legs and climbing up Genevieve's pants the last several inches. Genevieve's hand went to stroke the little head. “Did you have a good time at Bradley's?” Maleficent answered with a purr. “I'll bet he spoiled you rotten!” Her eyes widened at the next email.

A phone call and five minutes later, she stood at her doorway, Maleficent in one hand, yelling down the hall. “VAL! I NEED ALL DEPARTMENT HEADS IN MY OFFICE IN FIVE MINUTES! WE GOT THE STANDRING-COACH CONTRACT!”

_**~~~...~~~** _

“FitzGisborne. Good to see you again!” Thomas Anderson Spiegal held his hand out. Although it was not even nine in the morning, his tie was loose and his hair was mussed, from running his fingers too many times through the receding hairline. “Sorry, I missed you on Friday, but Peyton filled me in.” He was referring to his assistant, who Guy had ended up speaking with. “Wife was in labor and I spent the weekend at the hospital! Sit down, sit down.” He waved at a nearby chair. “Pull up a seat! You're permanently here in Atlanta now?”

“Took over George Stallop's practice.”

“Heard about his wife. Sad stuff. So you're running his practice? Senior partner? What about your practice in London?” 

“Still running it, although mostly by remote.” All of his London's solicitors were experienced, the support staff, well-trained and the office manager ran things as smoothly as a well-seasoned drill sargent. 

“Heard that, heard that. You like flexing those muscles! You haven't changed a bit since our Harvard days.” 

“Neither have you.” Guy ignored the man's diminishing hairline and paunch. “Boy? Girl? Healthy?” 

“Bull shit!” Harvard taught, but Southern born and bred, Tom's accent was thicker than Genevieve's. “Girl. Looks like her mama, thank God!” He picked up his cell phone, stroked through a few screens and turned the picture towards Guy, a close up of a scrunched up pink face, covered with a pink bonnet. 

“She's beautiful.”

Thomas put the phone down and went to digging though his files. “Peyton emailed me his notes about your concerns and your accusation, as well as a type out of the meeting in your client's office. The slander charge should be easy enough to prosecute, although that would be more in your jurisdiction-”

“I have the email he sent the other stockholders claiming Ms. Robinson had mishandled the company, as well.” Guy straightened and fussed with his tie. “I do intend to sue him for that.”

Thomas was nodding. “You can get me the original recording of the meeting?” 

“Tell me where to send it to, where to leave it. I can send it via email.”

Thomas handed him his card. “Do so.” Guy immediately took the card. “About the stock. Tell me about that.” 

Quietly, Guy recited the ins and outs of Genevieve's company. “She created stock in order to build her employees' retirement portfolios. Thing is, the release was supposed to be private. Someone made it public and released it.”

“So it went public.” 

Guy shook his head. “The shares weren't going for much and it was quiet, so pretty much no one paid attention. Simply Ficklebutte and he informed his cronies.”

“And your mother.” 

“No.” This would have to be approached rather delicately. “Mother loves to play in the US Stock Market; has since I was young. She is particularly fond of purchasing stock in young, just starting up companies.”

“Does she own stock in the company that tried to take over your client's company?” 

Guy's nod was slow. “Yes. But she did not buy into Ms. Robinson's company because Ficklebutte told her to. She bought it because she saw it and was interested.” 

“And now you're representing Ms. Robinson.”

“Yes.” 

Tom smiled. “A little birdie tells me that Ms. Robinson is more than your client.” 

Guy's smile was malicious. “Your little birdie needs to mind its own business or it might find its tweeter taken out.” 

Tom howled at that. As soon as he regained his control, he shook his finger at his old friend. “You best watch yourself. Her former boyfriend comes from a long line of attorneys and old money here in Atlanta. His mother is a well-known matriarch.”

“But not beloved.”

Tom shook his head, mouthing ' _Nooo._ '

“But they have broken up and are no longer a couple. Lamar Robincourt might be old Southern money, but I am older British Sterling and I think I can go toe-to-toe and beat him at his game if he chooses to go after my client.”

“Just out of curiosity,” Tom leaned back, opening the file in front of him, perusing the notes, casually. “We will be having a christening in a few weeks. When we send out the invites, should we just invite you or you and a guest?”

“Add the guest, just to be safe.” 

Tom nodded, his focus still riveted to the notes in the folder in front of him. The pen he had been rolling in his fingers was tossed on the desk. “FitzGisborne, we have been friends a long time. I know you. What is it that you really want? I don't think Albert Ficklebutte is your challenge or the ruination of him is your goal, because you have the capability and the ruthlessness to take him down without my help. So my gut instinct tells me that you want someone or something else and you're gonna use him to get to them.”

Guy leaned forward, smiling. “I want Genevieve's stock returned to her. But mostly, I want the person who set Ficklebutte on her. A copy of the original contract,” he tapped on the folder, “is in there. Someone wanted her so deep in the gutter, she would never raise her head again. This was a vicious attempt to demoralize her and strip her of everything. The fact that Ficklebutte offered her a low-level position tells me that he was having second thoughts. But he stated she was to never hold the reins of a company again nor would she travel in the social circles she had before. That person is still out there, waiting, biding their time. Someone knew she was going to release stock. I want to know who, so I can stop them before they go after her again. And if that means shaking him down and scaring the piss out of him, then so be it.”

“You are fully involved with her.” 

There was no need to lie. They were marrying sometime in July, by the latest, November. People would find out sooner than later. “Genevieve and I met many years ago, while she was on a trip to England. We clicked, but the timing was wrong and she wasn't there for very long. We have recently crossed paths again. We saw each other for the first time in years a week ago. The spark, the interest, the love is still there. The time is right; we are both ready for a permanent adult relationship. 

“I will be hiring several attorneys, on a fast track to junior partnership at Stallop's firm, with his blessing. There is no law keeping me from representing Genevieve because we are involved. I represent my mother, as well as my own interests here and in England. The interests we have here was the main reason for becoming degreed and passing the bar here as well.

“My mother became alarmed when Ficklebutte, after telling everyone to buy the stock in Genevieve's company, was at risk. When she investigated his claims and discovered them false, that is when I became involved. I was shocked to find the young woman I met so many years ago and deeply in love with, was even in this mess. I could not leave her to just anyone. I suspect this is not the first time he's done this. I would like to make sure it's his last.

“I want whoever is behind this attempted takeover. I want his or her head. They will try again. I wish to stop it. And whoever informed Ficklebutte Genevieve's stock was there for the taking? They will do it again unless stopped. 

“I do not give one fig about Albert Ficklebutte. You are right. I can deal with the man on his own turf and on mine. But I want what he stole from Genevieve returned to her and I want to know not only who put him up to this, but why.”

Tom stared at him. Not angry or shocked or disgusted. He had known Guy Crispin FitzGisborne for two decades and a more ruthless opponent and attorney he had never met. On several occasions, it had occurred to him to hire him, make him part of his team. The man had an interesting, if old world, sense of morality and justice and he fought for both with the fierceness of a well-trained dog.

But he was a wild card, as well. And rumors had it his brother was a wilder, wild card.

“Well, I have decided your complaint has merit. Insider trading is a very serious crime. I will be moving to obtain a court order to go in and remove paperwork and the computer records of Albert Ficklebutte. Considering the weather reports, it might be next week before I'm able to get in and start removing anything.” Tom reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of bifocals and put them on.

“That could work to our advantage. 

Ficklebutte will be expecting swift repercussions.”

_Good. Archer got into the system before Tom's office will. That will help!_

“I will try to keep your mother out of this.” He peered over the edge of his glasses. “I am not guaranteeing anything.” He lifted a finger to stop Guy's pending tirade. “Of course, there is so much here, I don't see why anyone would be interested in her, especially as you can prove that she purchased before Ficklebutte contacted her.” 

“True.” 

Tom smiled as he sat back. “You want Ficklebutte to talk.” The man's accent was very evident.

“Yes.” 

Tom was nodding. “Ficklebutte is a Yankee. We don't like Yankees. But Ficklebutte's wife is old South.” Guy leaned forward. He hadn't known this. “She'll probably insist that her husband hire an attorney within her family.”

“Who?” 

Tom grinned. “Peyton has Asperger's. He loves to research odd ball things. His 'niche', so to speak, is tracing family blood lines, former employers, friends, college buddies. See where they intersect. He caught on to your and my collective pasts rather quickly. According to Peyton, her mother's sister married into a rather prominent family here in Georgia.”

Guy was beginning to become irritated. His friend was teasing him in the worst, possible manner and Guy had never developed much of a sense of humor. “Who is Ficklebutte's wife … Dammit Tom!”

Tom was laughing. “Robincourt. Her mother's sister married a Robincourt.”

_**~~~...~~~** _

Genevieve stood in her office. “I do not believe this!”

“We've already got it sorted and figured out,” Bradley retorted. “This town is going to be shut down until next Monday. Schools are already closing. We need to get to work on the Standring-Coach job. Your entire start up team is single, no kids, no responsibilities. We went home during lunch, grabbed several changes of clothes, inflatable mattresses. We've all got heavy duty sleeping bags and blankets. We can work. Marquis and Antwan are at the grocery store, picking up food for all. We've chipped in. We have the fridge in the break room, along with the microwave. We have the gas grill on the other balcony if we need it. If we lose power, we can set the food out in ice chests and they will stay cold.” With his next admission, he looked rather... well... sheepish. “We have three kerosene heaters and four electric heaters if the building turns off the heat. We even have two army surplus tents along with our gear, we'll keep warm. We can work on the S-C project, so you won't have to hit the ground running come Monday. We're adults. We're grown-ups.”

“Who's a grown-up?” Guy stepped into her office unannounced.

“No one in here!” 

Bradley wasn't about to be deterred. “Gen just won the biggest project of the firm's life! And we're going to be snowed in for the rest of the week. So me and the team decided that rather than go home and watch more Star Trek, we'll just camp out here. We have everything we need, we promise only to work from 9 to 5, we have changes of clothes, camping gear, our phone chargers, our laptops and laptop chargers, we have the grill, we have a fridge, we have heaters and food and camping gear. We have declared no alcohol!” 

“They are a fire in the making.” 

“I'm a survivalist!” 

“Do you have your meds?” 

That question didn't catch Bradley off guard. “Yes, I do. We are good through Monday morning. And before you start the All Work and No Play shit, I have DVD's to watch.”

“How many total?” Guy didn't seem to be surprised. 

“Six of us.” 

“The main reception area is large. It will accommodate the tents and I promise, come Monday morning, you won't know we were here. You'll just come in and see all the work we did!” 

Guy was standing next to Genevieve, his arms crossed. “Someone is hungry for a paycheck.”

“No, they're not!” Genevieve retorted. “They have a base pay salary and then get bonuses depending on which team and which job they're working.” 

“Well?” 

Genevieve wasn't thrilled, but they had a point. “I do not want to return to discover there was an orgy, or someone did something to someone else or my office was turned into a giant stag party with strippers and porn flicks.” 

“We promise.” 

“I do not want to come back to a mess in the break room. Or the balconies. I really don't want to have to call HazMat to clean the men's restroom or get a call that the office was set on fire.”

“You got it!” 

Genevieve's finger was up. “We could get kicked out. I don't know anything about this.” She looked up to see the entire team, including Marquis and his boyfriend, Antwan, crowding the doorway. Both Marquis and Antwan had their arms full of grocery bags.

“It's not a party, Miz G.,” Antwan spoke quietly. He was the exact opposite of his boyfriend. Quiet, athletic, and dressed very conservatively. He was the most polite individual Genevieve had ever met. “I'm off already, so I don't mind cleaning up and cooking for these guys. We have stuff to do and watch at night.” He shrugged. “I brought a few board games; Monopoly and Clue.”

“Yer jist a wild thang, ain't 'cha?” Marquis quipped. “What on earth do I see in you?” 

“My cooking skills, for starters.” Antwan was smiling. 

Genevieve just shook her head and waved them out. When the room was emptied, Guy shut the door. 

“I don't know about this. I should just march in there and tell them 'no'.” 

“Don't. Let them work. It will be good for them and for Bradley.” He drew her to him. “They have spent over four months on tether-hooks, wondering if they would have a job come Valentine's Day. They have been biding their time, treading water, so to speak. Let them work.”  
Genevieve allowed herself to be pulled into his arms. “I've already closed the office through Monday. What few clients we had coming in, we've rescheduled. I'm going to sock in for the duration. I need to go to the grocery store and stock up.” 

“Stock up for two.”

“Coming over?” 

She felt Guy nodding, his chin bumping her head. “If you don't mind.” 

“I don't mind.” 

“We have a wedding to plan.” 

She snaked her arms around him, pulling him tighter. “I wanted to ask you something, about you moving in-”

“No.”

She rolled her eyes. “Are you going to start with this kissing you stuff?” 

Guy looked down at her. “No. I recall a conversation with you where you told me you wouldn't do that, unless there was a wedding date.” 

“We're married!”

“We have been through this, Genevieve,” Guy shook his head. “People talk. I normally would not care, but I have had one uncomfortable conversation already. No one, save Val, knows our past. According to the dictates of this society, we are moving very fast. We are marrying in four months, which many will consider hasty. I would rather spend the next few days planning our ceremony and looking at houses online. I would like to know what you desire.”

“We are already married.” She wasn't giving up that argument easily.

Guy snorted. “Aye, although no one would recognize it, save The Almighty and his Angels. No, I shall stay in the apartment for the time being, but we will spend the time at your condo looking for a home and furniture for the house during the snow. This way, we can 'court' properly for the next few months.” He inhaled sharply. “I forgot. Have you ever been to England, besides... well... you know...”

“As a matter of fact, I went to England the summer after I graduated High School. I wanted to look at the different architectural styles of the historic buildings and homes. I took a lot of pictures that didn't come out very well.” She made a moue with her mouth. “Why?” 

“If anyone asks, that's when we met.” He decided not to tell her of his conversation with the District Attorney, nor with his mother telling him that Ficklebutte was being forced to retire.

Maybe he would simply take her to the retirement party. 

Then again, perhaps that would be a bad idea.  
 _  
But it would be a party no one was likely to forget! This would bear some thinking on._

Genevieve spent the earlier part of the evening at the grocery store, trying to duck children and other shoppers. Atlanta went insane at the word 'snow' and by the end of the evening, the shelves would be stripped bare. She made sure the bathroom was clean, the bed had fresh sheets. She cooked a heavy Italian Cheese Tortellini and Sausage soup, put white northern beans out to soak for chili. 

Guy showed up at 8 PM sharp, with clothes, snacks, and wine. After helping her put away the wine and food, he took his things to her bedroom. “Damn.” 

“What?” 

“You need a bigger bed.”

_**~~~...~~~** _

_**Black is the color of my true love's hair** _

_**~~~...~~~** _

_**tbc** _


	41. 40 - Your people shall be my people, and thy God, my God.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is some gross factor here. Discretion advised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again I want to thank everyone for reading. This monster is so close to the end now and everyone's wonderful comments mean the world to me. 
> 
> in response to who I envisioned as Elyanna, I can see Helen Mirren or Judi Dench, two actresses who I have great great respect for.

_**Manna from Heaven** _

_**Chapter 40** _

_**Your people, shall be my people and thy God, my God.** _

The temperature began to drop drastically after the sun went down on Monday. While Genevieve cooked a hearty, thick stew, Guy brought in the quarter cord of wood he'd purchased when he filled up with gas at the corner. When he dropped the last armload outside her door, Genevieve handed him the keys to her vehicle.

“Mine too. In the trunk.” 

So in the end, Guy figured, at the very least, they would stay warm. 

Maleficent made no move to go outside, seeming to be content to curl up in the middle of Genevieve's bed. 

“Ne pas mettre à l'aise, peu bête,” Guy whispered. 

Maleficent responded by lifting her rear leg and proceeding to clean the spot beneath her tail.

So after dinner and the clean-up – in which Guy declared her kitchen too small as they kept bumping into each other, - the knight settled on her couch, a fire crackling brightly in her fireplace, and a divorce case going to trail in three weeks spread out in his lap. Both parties were being prats, forgetting about their children, ready to destroy each other over money and miscommunication. Perhaps the two would get snowed in together and either kill each or remember why they married to begin with. 

Over the centuries, marriage grew to mean something to Guy, something besides a partnership, the merging of property, the building and basis of power and status. It was work and, in this day and time, it was too easy to quit and give up. The ease of it nauseated him.

Suddenly, he became angry at the battling couple, furious that he was doing work, when there were other things he and Genevieve could be doing, should be doing. This was time for them to concentrate on their relationship, work on them, making sure... _*this*_... didn't happen to them or their family! “Genevieve!” He scooped the documents up, stacking them neatly back into the folder. This was not how he wanted their married life to be; working all day and then coming home and retreating to separate corners to work some more. Yes, there would be exceptions on occasion, but he was going to put his foot down about things right now. “Genevieve!” 

The bright lamps in the room dimmed, the glow of the fire casting shadows on the wall, bringing the atmosphere. Genevieve stepped around the couch, clad in nothing save her crucifix and her wedding band. She made her way to the middle of the room, eyes down. Using the coffee table to brace herself, she slowly lowered herself to the floor, resting on her knees. 

“What are you doing?” It was a soft hiss.

“This is how it goes,” both of her hands rested lightly on her thighs, “isn't it? Did I get it wrong?” 

_She was making a statement. Or trying to._

“Palms up, backs of your hands on your knees.” 

She turned her wrists over, her palms now facing him. “Like this, Sir?” Her head was still bowed. “Am I doing it right?” 

The knight moved the coffee table against the wall, before towering over her. “Spread your legs. Show me what is mine.”

It took effort, but she complied. 

For a moment, he stood there, amazed at the courage of the woman. Considering what she did for him, eight centuries before, it should be he kneeling before her. Her tenacious business acumen, her trust in him, to protect her, protect her interests, her business, her employees... Despite Lamar, she still looked at the world, with her heart. Guy leaned over, taking her chin in his hand and lifting her face. “Look at me.” She grimaced, but then covered it. “This is causing you pain.” 

“I still don't move very well. It's getting easier, but kneeling is hard.” 

At the admission, Guy slid forward, her chin still in his hand. He kissed her sweetly, enjoying the taste of her. “Thank you for the gift. You will not do this again until I tell you to, which will not be any time soon.” With that, he swept her up, sitting on the couch, settling her sideways, and tucked her under his chin. “For the record, Lady Gisborne, this is how it goes. This is how it goes for us.” His arms whipped around her, holding her close. “I am your Protector, more than your Master. Although,” he smiled, “being your Master has its advantages and perks.” 

Genevieve snuggled in. “You are my knight.” 

“My armor was never shiny.” 

“A knight whose armor is shiny is a man whose mettle has not been tested.” She butted her head beneath his chin and began to unbutton his shirt. “You are my Sir.” 

“You belong to me. What are you doing?” 

She continued her task. “It is unfair that I am naked and you are not.” She looked up at him through upturned eyelashes. “I am leveling the playing field.” 

Guy stood up, the woman in his arms, hot-blooded and tempting. “'Tis time I reasserted my authority, my lady.”

When he rose, Genevieve's arms shot around his neck. “Oh? And how are you going to do that?” 

Five minutes later, Genevieve found herself on her bed, blind-folded and bound, bottom up, butt cheeks in the process of becoming warm and pink while Guy softly counted to ten.

And unable to see the variety of vibrators or the specially made, jet wolf-etched princess plug laid out beside her.

And when it was over and both were naked and sweating and exhausted from exertion, Genevieve learned about 'Aftercare'.

_**~~~...~~~** _

Snow began in earnest on Tuesday afternoon, the city much better prepared – _emptied out, stocked up and staying home!_ \- than the previous snow just a few weeks back. Genevieve laughed at the picture on the front page of the Atlanta Journal and Constitution – a convoy of snowplows marching up a deserted Connector.

By an unspoken agreement, mornings meant joint breakfast, coffee and whatever one or the other decided to fix; the days were spent with the two quietly doing their jobs – Guy's attention riveted to the divorce case, a legitimate business sale, a lease disagreement and reviewing the case against Albert Ficklebutte. Archer was not responding to emails and Elyana was shopping, buying out New York City by the sound of it.  
 _  
'Darling! Has Genevieve settled on colors or style yet? There is a huge bridal salon here in New York, we must bring her and her grandmother up! By the way, do you have her grandmother's number and email? I must meet her! There is so much to plan, do you have a date set?...'_

For a moment, Genevieve's jaw was set firmly, unresponsive to any of Guy's relayed questions. After some minutes, she pulled out a new legal pad from a drawer in her study, wrote _**'WEDDING'**_ underlined in bold letters across the top and began to quickly jot down what looked like a bullet list. She then set it to the side, and returned to her sketch pad and her computer. 

She checked in on her employees regularly. They sent pictures of the large reception area; furniture moved, two large, unanchored, army surplus tents set up about the room. As promised, they were working, emailing Genevieve with progress reports-

“NO!” Guy looked up from dining room table where he had set up his temporary work station to look into her study. “Open spaces, folks. Open. Spaces.” She was fussing at her Skype cam. “That's what sold them on us. Open spaces. Greenery, plants. Rob, I know you're a wiz with lighting and wiring and plumbing, so work with us here. We need the illusion of peace and tranquility and this stuff has to be watered!” Whoever was on the other side nodded. “Bradley, what have you worked up on groundwork? How high can we go and how deep must we brace?” 

“I've got requests for geographical information.” Guy recognized Bradley's trace West Virginian accent. “Some of it's come in and I'm doing internet searches through several government geological sites to tide me and give me some basis to begin with until the rest come. Also landscaping and the plants that thrive in that area.”

Genevieve nodded. “If I find one single inch set for growing pot, even as a joke,” a chorus of _'Oh man!'_ and whines came from the computer, “I know you'd think it's funny, but no! Just no!” 

They reported that the building was not turning off the heat, and they did not lose power, but they were prepared with blankets and heaters, if necessary. 

At 5:30 each evening, both man and woman put their work away, out of sight, cooked dinner together, ate, cleaned the kitchen. They talked, talked about so many things; growing up, Guy's many growing ups, politics, where they were similar and where they differed. 

Genevieve was adamant about The Lifestyle; she was curious, she wanted to learn, to know, to be 'trained', explore how deep she wanted to experiment. Guy knew exactly how deep and how far he wanted that aspect of their life together. He knew what she was attracted to most in the D/s lifestyle was the nurturing and protection aspect, as well as allowing someone else take the reins at the end of the day. She kept up with over 40 employees, their strong points, their weaknesses. She put teams together, pairing up strengths and ability, and in some cases, such as Bradley's, she kept up with private lives, personal needs, as they were willing to share. When going through her personnel records, he realized that she negotiated and tailor made an insurance package to meet the needs of her employees, including a what-if scenario for addiction rehab and psychological service coverage and her company absorbed a decent percentage of the costs to keep it affordable to her employees. Too often, he discovered, she burned the candles at both ends, allowed herself to be pulled in many different directions, so busy taking care of others, she neglected herself. This was why working out was so important to her. _Sweet Jesu, the woman needed a keeper, someone to take care of her!_ The best submissive, in his point of view, was the one who made executive decisions, ran large companies, large households, and at the end of the day, laid all the decision-making and stress down and handed their lives over to one willing to ease their burden.

He explained to her, he did not want a slave, where he made all the decisions, 24/7. He didn't want to select her daily outfits for work, or her panties every day. Just a few days, once or twice a week. Just panties, not complete outfits. He didn't want her crawling around on all fours, like a chained pet-

“Although, you'd like to see me in a fox tail and ears,” she finished for him. “I am not seeing those online. I'm seeing kitty tails and ears and mitts and Pretty Little Pony Rainbow Bright tails-”

“You have not!” He came around to her side of the table, staring over her shoulder onto the computer screen. 

“Did you just call me a liar?” She said it with a smile, Guy's jaw dropped when he looked at the selection as she scrolled through the inventory. 

“I did not realize. I am sorry.” 

“You are not getting me into those silly pony shoes with the taps.” She scrolled past those rather quickly. “Just looking at them makes my hips and lower back hurt.” 

“And your feet, as well, I suppose.”

As she listened to him talk, Genevieve digested the information, his long, rambling Neanderthal verbal wanderings. 

“In short,” she interrupted, “you want to make certain decisions. Specifically sex.” 

He was very nonchalant in his answer. “Your pleasure is my responsibility. I take it very seriously.”

She shifted in her seat. Sometimes that plug just didn't sit right. “Yes. I know.”

They house-hunted online, discovering they had very different ideas about some things, and very similar things about others. 

She wanted a house in town. Her business was there, his practice was there, she was tired of the commute. A townhouse, an older row home, a fixer upper. 

He wanted something large, palatial, preferably past the northern reaches of Alpharetta, Acworth, or 

_'Gainesville? Gainesville? Are you insane? That far out with Atlanta traffic? If you want a lake house, we'll get a weekend home up on Lake Hartwell or Lake Lanier!'_

And they loved. And wrestled in the sheets. They made love in the bed, in the shower. One night, they fell asleep, wrapped in each other in front of the fireplace, Guy waking to discover not only Genevieve cuddled up next to him, but Maleficent curled on his chest, purring in her sleep. 

“You leave her 'lone. She's justa baby,” Genevieve mumbled, snuggling in further.

Thinking she was more asleep than awake and that she wasn't paying attention, Guy cuddled her closer, trying not to disturb her or the kitten. His fingers traced her hair away from her forehead. “Genevieve, where is your gun?” 

“Not tellin'.” She opened one sleepy eye. “Nn'til I'm certain you won' take it.” Genevieve's eyes shot open. A horrid thought occurred to her. “Guy?” 

“Yes?” 

She raised her head to look at him. “Marian wouldn't let you protect her, would she?” 

All the air in his chest whooshed out with his pent up breath. “No. She was rashly independent and her inability and refusal to think of her actions, led to the events that cost her her life and, in a sense, led to her father's as well.” Guy was staring at Genevieve's ceiling. “She did not consider the consequences of her deeds. She did not trust me.” 

_She emasculated me at every turn._

The fire was low in the fireplace and sunrise was only a short hour away. Genevieve rolled over and struggled up before Guy could reach her, upsetting Maleficent in the process. “The roads should be clear tomorrow. We'll go to the shooting range tomorrow and you can judge for yourself. We'll take both guns and my shotgun-”

“You have a rifle?” 

“Yes. I have a hidden gun rack in the bookcase on the other wall, but you need to know the secret in opening it. I'll show it to you, later.” She was now looking up at him, mussed and still heavy-eyed. “I'm still sleepy. Let's go to bed and we'll talk about it over breakfast. Maybe we'll even sneak in lunch and a movie. Guy. You've reminded me you're not Lamar. I'm not Marian.” And with that, she turned and strolled into the bedroom, her curvy ass bouncing along with her. Guy realized he was holding Maleficent in the crook of his arm. 

“Americans.” He shook his head and followed behind.

_**~~~...~~~** _

By the time the week was over, they had settled on a house in town, a do-it-yourself project was preferable, but not set in stone. They picked out several to look at, with plans for Guy to contact a realtor on Monday. Once the wedding was over, they would look for property further north and build a home of Genevieve's design.

There was no trace of a camping party come Monday; everything was returned to its place and cleared up. The team returned to their own homes Saturday afternoon, so they arrived to work on Monday refreshed and ready to show off their ideas for the project. Between the two snows, the wait on would the company be sold or not, and the taking on of two new projects, that following week was cram-packed with current meetings, rescheduled meetings, reports, revising of on-going projects, by Thursday, pain in Genevieve's lower back and hip reasserted itself, much to not only her ire, but Guy's and Thor's. 

“I do not believe you will be able to attend The High Museum's festivity, much less Ficklebutte's retirement party. We should plan to stay in.” Guy cleared the dinner table, began to rinse the plates for the dishwasher. “I will send condolences, tell mother she will be attending alone. With your grandmother arriving the next morning-”

Genevieve was on the couch, reclining on her good side. She was channel-surfing; Guy tended to hog the remote, typical man, and she snatched the thing whenever she had a chance. “No, don't do that. First off, we haven't been invited, so they might not let us in the door. Second, it's next weekend, and I could be past this by now. It's been an incredibly full week.” This was true. The earliest Genevieve had left the office in the last four days was 7 P.M. Guy personally brought in dinner for her and her crew, and forced them all to go home on Wednesday! “And lastly, your mother is dying to take me shopping! Grandma will be here for that.” Guy snarled at that reminder. It meant he would be sleeping alone in his bed up in Cobb County and he was finding that becoming more and more unbearable. For not the first time, he heavily considered offering to put Genevieve's grandmother into a suite with his mother at the Hilton. The two matriarchs, at best, could get to know each other. At worst, they would claw each other's eyes out. The wedding in Kentucky was set for the end of July and according to all three women in his life now, time was a-wasting! The church was reserved, there was no catering in that part of the country and Guy's mother was aghast that the entire reception would be celebrated and provided by friends and neighbors of Genevieve and her grandmother, with some sort of wild, free-for-all Kentucky Redneck Southern Baptist Grand Buffet! 

Guy assured his mother he was personally over-seeing the import of the family wine and champagne for the festivities. 

Genevieve just shook her head. She had been to these sorts of festivities and wedding receptions all of her life. She by far preferred them. Granted, they weren't swanky events, but they were full of love and family and fellowship.

“Genevieve,” he began to load the dishwasher, and Genevieve had to admit he was good about helping to keep the place neat and tidy. None of this _'woman's work'_ when it came to the household chores. “We do not have to be invited. It is coinciding with a fête and fund-raiser at The High Museum, which you and I _have_ been invited to. Regardless, I will not have you exhausted further when you are still recuperating.” 

With a show of defiance, she attempted to rise from the couch. “I will not be treated like an invalid!” 

Faster than a blink, she found herself returned to her side on the couch. “If you do not behave, you will find yourself to be treated like the brat you are and bare bottomed over my knee.” Suddenly, she was aware of the man towering over her, arms crossed, a dark look on his face. “I believe I will change my mind about collaring you. I think a series of chokers to begin with, and a studded leather, when you are behaving the brat. Your health is of utmost importance to me and if you will not take care of yourself, I will take care of you!” Genevieve found herself being stripped to the skin. “I would have you on your knees, in position, however, as you are in pain, naked will do just fine.” He then returned to the kitchen, after tossing her clothes in the laundry room. “You have worked too many hours this week. You will be ready to come home by 3:00 PM tomorrow. We will spend the weekend discussing the homes we've looked at, as well as the wedding and our pending trip to England this fall.” 

“I have a 1:30 meeting with a client. An important one.” 

“I will be in your office at 3:00, Genevieve. Count on it.” 

Her clients were leaving as he arrived.

_**~~~...~~~** _

The fund-raiser at The High Museum was the first social outing Genevieve had been to since before her accident.

As well as her first since Lamar did the _You Dropped A Bomb on Me_ out of her life. Chances were spectacular she would not only have words with Ficklebutte, but that she would run into not only Lamar and his new squeeze, Savannah Botoxed Whatsherface, but into The Gator as well. 

It made her nervous.

“Why?” Guy asked. His suit was in a bag, hanging up on the bedroom door. He had several small and a shoe-sized boxes balanced in his hand.

“I've always been kind and deferential to The Gator. She is Lamar's mother.” 

“You did not wish to cause a scene or to make life more difficult.” He deftly set the boxes down on the bed. “Do not worry about it tonight. Much like the attempted take-over in your office, the outcome will still be the same. Ficklebutte will permanently retired and you, m'lady,” with this he took her hand, “have a better man in your life.” He kissed the knuckles. “Do you need help changing?” 

“No.” She waved him off. For not the first time that week, she wondered about her choice of dress. She had bought it before her accident, for the Red Cross ball, but never had a chance to wear it. It was a short little black number, form fitting and right this moment, Genevieve was feeling more plump than normal.

“Wot?” 

Genevieve's head jerked up. “What?” 

Guy pointed to her dress on the bed. “You are looking at it as if you wish to burn it.” 

“N..uhm.. no,” she stuttered. “I'm kinda... well... more... lumpy than I was when I bought it and-”

“You will not denigrate yourself.” Guy's voice was terse. “I will not have it. It will make me very angry and you do not want that.” He took a deep breath and in some, odd way, it seemed he was now seven feet tall. “I have seen your body as it is. I have kissed every inch, licked it. You are not lumpy. You are beautiful and you are mine. I am not in love with 'lumpy' or 'ugly'.” He picked up one of the boxes, handing it to her. “I have bought these for you. I would be pleased if you wear them tonight.” With that, he turned, lifted his tuxedo from the door and headed to Genevieve's office to change. 

Where Maleficent watched him with kittenish perverse delight. 

“Garters?”

“Yes.” His shirt on and buttoned, he stepped into the trousers.

“Stockings? GUY! Are these silk?” 

“Only the best for my lady.” He tucked the shirt in, making sure the tail of it lay flat, before bringing the waist around and beginning the always terrifying task of zipping up.

“Guy?” She was standing in the opening of the doorway, wearing only a black lace bra and matching panties. She held up a wad of something made of pearl seed and a - “This strand of pearls won't fit around my neck and they're kinda big and besides, there isn't really a catch, just a circular...” her eyes become large at the implication and his smirk. “Ooooh! Do you want me to actually... _wear_ these tonight?” 

“Do you need help inserting them?” 

“NO! Can't we wait until to-”

“No. I wish for you to wear them tonight.” His leer was evil. “No one will know but you and I. I find the thought to be rather naughty. It would please me. As for the other,” he took them from her hand and finding the sides, held them up, “this is a pearl-seed crotchless g-string.” The knight was obviously amused at her gasp. “This little rosette,” he showed her the object, “should be positioned just at the tip of your bottom.” He handed them back. “Again, if you need help getting into to them or inserting-”

“NO!” She turned and flounced off. “I can manage!” The bedroom door slammed shut. 

Maleficent decided that now that Guy was more or less clothed, she needed to groom herself.  
She lifted a leg. 

After several minutes, Guy was ready. He checked his watch. “Genevieve, my driver will be here in ten minutes.” 

“Driver?” 

“Yes. When I am ready to leave, I do not wish to hunt the car, nor for you to wait for me or walk to it. If there is valet parking, I do not wish to linger. I will simply call my driver and he will await for us.”

“Oh.” It occurred to Genevieve her standard of living, which was already far above what she ever dreamed of, was getting ready to launch skyward. 

“Are you ready?”

“I think so.” 

Guy scowled. “You think?” 

He heard the door open. “It would look better with high heels.”

To Guy, it didn't matter. The dress was simply cut, clinging to bountiful curves. It came above her knees, the neck square and low. She was correct that yes, the ensemble would look better with higher heels, but due to her accident, she was wearing sequined shoes with a slight half inch peg. He hoped the evening would proceed quickly. He knew his wife's – yes, to him, she was still his wife! - temperament and figured someone would be lashed low before the night was over, something he was actually looking forward to. There were several things he was looking forward to, including undressing her!

“Nice.” He spun his finger. “Turn around.” 

She did so, rather reminiscent of a rainy night over eight centuries before, when she turned for him, naked, desired, and needy. 

“Bend over.” With a come-hither look, she grasped the arms of the couch and bent over. Cool air brushed her backside as Guy lifted her dress to her waist. 

“Guy?” 

“Making sure you obeyed.” His hand stroked the flesh, his eyes taking in the pale pink, beaded g-string, with the miniature rosette between the small of her back and her crack, and the tiny ring peeking out between her cheeks. 

The garters... Guy was a complete manwhore sucker for garters. He cherished the memory of finding her in the road so many lives ago, and Joffrey's shame for her. He remembered her on his bed, his curiosity, and he remembered the time she handcuffed herself to his bedpost, wearing that naughty corset! To this day, he had a feeling the two of them were watched that night. He made a mental note to make sure she had plenty and swearing to himself to ensure she never found out he would deny her nothing if she was wearing just them if she asked for anything. 

_!CRACKCRACK!_

“HEY!” Genevieve found a firm hand on the small of her back, her heated cheeks still exposed to the air. “What was that for?” 

Guy's hand was stroking the curve, where he had just smacked. “I suspect you will allow at least one person to make you very angry tonight and you will let them know. So that would be for language to come.” 

“And what if I don't?” She was glaring at him over her shoulder.

“Genevieve-”

“You just gave me permission to lose my temper with the Gator, didn't you?” _Ah, there was that Genevieve grin._

“I spanked you twice.” He laid his hand on the small of her back.

“And at least one other person who gets on my nerves.” She bit her lip in thought. “I've already laid Ficklebutte out. He'll probably hide from me.” She nodded. “If he's smart, he'll hide from me!” 

Guy's hand drifted, his fingers delving.

“Guy! We really don't have time-”

“You are wet and my driver will wait if I tell him to.”

“I am not wet! I am over-lubed!” He allowed her to stand up. She turned around and wiggled uncomfortably to find his fingers in his mouth, sucking her essence from them. 

“No.” He pulled his fingers from his mouth and inspected the tips. “It is definitely you I am tasting. Although, I do taste a hint of strawberry.” He stood her at arm's length, looking at her from head to toe. He lifted her hair, approving of the gold ear bobs. He took note of her old wedding band on her right hand, rather than her left; something he instructed her to do weeks past. She was upset to be getting a new wedding band, but once he informed her he could not possibly marry her in a band that she had been seen wearing for months...she sadly agreed. 

“Permission notwithstanding, remember who you are and remember who you will be.” He leaned over the couch and picked up one last jeweler's box. “You are missing a crucial piece of jewelry. Turn around and lift your hair.” 

She did so, feeling the cool metal as it-

“Guy, that's a bit high and tight for a necklace.”

“It is not a necklace.” 

The thing bobbed under her Adam's apple. “It's a collar.” Her shoulders drooped. “You put me in a collar. In public. Without the special stuff and ceremony.”

“Go look.” 

Genevieve slunk off, much like a beaten puppy, going into the hall bath, flipping on the light. “OH! It's pretty!” It was a narrow, Victorian-styled lace choker, with small, dangling jet jewels. “It's still a collar.”

“It has been in the family for a few generations.” Guy grinned as Genevieve tipped her head in ire from the door. “No, I did not collar someone else with it. My great grandfather had it made for my great grandmother as an engagement gift. It was quite the fashion, I understand.” He picked up his great coat and scarf, sliding into them very quickly. “At this moment, it is not a collar. I have threatened it and we will discuss that at a later date. It is family jewelry to the public, but we know what it is.” Peeking through the curtains, he then picked up the black stole his mother had sent. “If you truly wish to be my submissive, you would be proud to wear my collar. It would delight me if you consented to wear it. We will discuss it and yes, we will have a special ceremony, if you desire. Come. My driver has arrived.” 

Genevieve left the bathroom, turning off the light, before seeing what it was Guy held out to her. “Is that real?” She turned to let him slip it on her shoulders. “There are people who will have a serious melt-down-”

“It too has been in the family for some time. Specifically, this was made for my grandmother and my mother is gifting it to you. If anyone complains, tell them those darling little minks would have been dead by now and would not need their fur anyway.” 

“Guy! I can't tell them that!”

“Then send them to me and I will tell them.” He was reaching into his pocket. “There is one other thing.” He withdrew a small ring box. “Shall we make this official?” He sank to one knee. “Je t'aime, Je t'adore, Être avec moi, rester à mes côtés, me marier."

She sank down on the couch. “Oui. Oh yes oh yes.”

[](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/ZeeDippyVessel/media/gensengagementring_zps7f17ef05.jpg.html)

_**~~~...~~~** _

To say Albert Ficklebutte was not pleased to see Genevieve Faith Robinson at his retirement party was an understatement. Davis Johnson, who was standing with him, tersely reminded him that this was actually a High Museum fundraiser and the little tart had a right to be there. With luck, it would be the last time he had to face her.

Only to find out she arrived with her attorney, both looking very much in love, in a stretch limousine, which definitely made him peevish. 

And when his wife found out...

But that was nothing when Adelle Robencourt and Savannah Louise Couchlinne discovered Genevieve had arrived and on the arm of Atlanta's newest wealthy bachelor, snatching him up before anyone had a chance.

“So that's the Ho,” Savannah whispered to Mama Robencourt.

“You do not know the half.”

The electricity in the air was crackling fire. And the showdown was brewing.

“You are walking strangely, my lady.” Guy led her into the main atrium and looked around, not looking for a well-known face, but mainly to be seen. He handed his coat and scarf and Genevieve's stole to the coat clerk and moved on. A waiter walked by with a tray of champagne, and he whisked two flutes from it, handing one to Genevieve. “Are your shoes or your hip paining you?” 

“No!” she hissed, smiling and taking the champagne. “I told you I over-lubed these beads and they are shifting around! It's uncomfortable!” 

“Squeeze.”

Guy saw his mother, standing by Silas. He was balding, came up to Elyana's shoulder, and his suit was hanging limply from his shoulders. She tipped her head and beckoned the two over. Silas grasped Guy's hand in an unexpected vigorous shake. “Elyana, so this is your boy! I don't know if I should thank you or throttle you!” Despite his frail and gray frame, his voice was booming. “Probably thank you. Never liked Al anyway. Owed his father a favor!” He turned his eyes to Genevieve. “I see you've snatched up a Kentucky thoroughbred!” The compliment made Genevieve blush. “And,” he winked at Guy, “a true Georgia Peach!” He reached out and slightly punched Guy in the arm. “Don't let the sweet southern charm lull you for a minute, my boy. Southern women have backbones and stays of steel.”

Guy pulled Genevieve to his side. “I am rather aware of that.”

Finally, the man's voice dropped, as he leaned in. “From what I understand happened in that boardroom, yes, you should be!” He then looked at Genevieve. “Young lady, did you truly tell Al to 'stick it where the sun don't shine'?” 

Despite the man's pallor and obvious fragility, Genevieve felt an instant rapport with him. “Shore 'nuff, sweet thang!” 

The man started laughing, before coughing. It took him a moment to catch his breath. “You tell whichever employee threatened to make him his ficklebitch that he will have a place with my firm if he ever decides. Al hollered about that insult up until I fired him!” 

“I think I will keep Marquis.” Genevieve, along with Guy and Elyana, were becoming alarmed. “Do you need some water?” 

He waved them off, stepping around Guy. “I'll get a drink. I'll be fine.” He pointed at Elyana as he walked off. “Don't you go away. We have things to discuss.” The small group watched as he disappeared into the crowd. 

“The man smells of death.” Guy sank his nose into his champagne glass. If anyone knew what death smelled like, it was Guy of Gisborne. 

“He is dying, Guy,” his mother supplied. She still pronounced it with a French accent – Gui. “He has less than a year left to live and his only heir is a grand-nephew who is a wastrel and a drunk. He would go through Silas's money in no time and bankrupt the company he's spent a lifetime building.” 

“Is that what he's wanting to discuss?” Genevieve asked quietly.

Elyana smiled ruefully. “He has asked me to marry him. He wants to establish a home in Florida, marry quietly there. He'll have a will written up, not by you,” she nodded to Guy, “although, you will be given a key to the safety deposit box and be declared the executor. Silas isn't planning to tell many, especially his nephew, who hasn't spoken to him in over 20 years. He doesn't even know where he is. Brat will probably crawl out of the woodwork when Silas is on his deathbed. I won't let him near him!” A waiter walked back and she set the empty glass down. “Florida has rather tight inheritance laws. Spouses inherit unless there is a will stating otherwise. I told him he must leave the boy something, even if it is only the house in upstate New York.” 

“I do not see this wastrel trying to take you on regardless.” He stepped next to his mother, leaning in closely. “Are you sure you wish to do this? He might live-”

“He will not live six months, Guy, if that. I know the disease that eats him.” Elyana's face fell. “Believe me, I will love your father until the end of my days; no one can replace Roger FitzGisborne in my heart. But Silas has been a good friend to me and I would honor his wish that his company will not implode on his death.”

“You are not an architect,” he reminded her.

“No, but I know a few good ones. Architects that would be good for that company and no, I'm not considering a single one that works for Genevieve or a merger! The company is already in good hands and Silas is making sure of things. He simply wishes they remain so.” She turned suddenly to the younger woman. “Has my son asked for your hand officially?” Genevieve waggled her finger, showing off the large, square ruby. “Ach! No diamond? Guy Crispin FitzGisborne!” she implored, “I raised you better!” 

“She has a preference for rubies. The wedding band will have diamonds.” 

She nodded once before looking around. “Where is a waiter with champagne when you need him?” And with that, she wove through the crowd, people stepping aside for her. 

Guy was watching Genevieve twitch. “Is something amiss?” 

“I need to visit the Southern Belle room. Powder my nose.”

“Do not take them out.” 

Genevieve snarled. 

“Should I escort you?” 

A waiter with canapées strolled by. Genevieve grabbed two, handing Guy one. “Why?” 

Guy took the offering and looked around, leaning against the banister. He crooked a finger to his wife. “Stay away from anyone who would upset you. Specifically Ficklebutte.”

“It's not my desire to cause a scene, but I believe you have given me two 'Get out of Jail, Free' cards.” She looked over her shoulder to her rear end. “Yep. Two.” 

Guy's forehead furrowed. “Monopoly.” 

“Yes.” 

Guy shook his head. “When I took our coats to the cloak room, I ran into the DA I took evidence to, Mr. Spiegal.” 

Genevieve nodded. “We attended his daughter's christening last week.”

“Ficklebutte was arrested and arraigned on insider trading charges on Tuesday. His assets have been frozen, so he cannot run far. The State is trying to move quickly on this case, but his attorney will try to drag his feet. So far, he has managed to keep the news out of the press, so it isn't common knowledge. Silas is cooperating and has handed over Ficklebutte's hard drive, files, and his phone records.” He pulled her in close and began to nuzzle her hair. “Normally, I abhor public displays of affection, however, we are being watched and I rather like the idea of putting on a floor show for this particular audience.”

Genevieve smiled and leaned into him. “And who would the audience be?” 

“I believe,” he inhaled, “it is your former boyfriend, along with a rather over-done bimbo, wearing a too-tight outfit and too much lipstick, and an older woman with a rather sour expression. She looks like an alligator. Chin up. Give us a kiss.” 

Genevieve complied graciously. “Now, I really need to powder my nose.” 

Guy grabbed her hand as she went by. “I am not joking. I will check the beads when we get in the limousine. Do not remove them. I will do it.” He leaned forward. “I look forward to removing them! You will like it, as well!” He tugged her back. “Ficklebutte's attorney is Timothy Robencourt, uncle to one Lamar Robencourt.” He felt Genevieve stiffen. “I understand that there is a particularly morbid collection of dead bodies on the top floor. I want to compare them to mine.”

“Guy!”

“Join me when you are ready. Remember who you are. Remember who you will be!” He kissed her forehead and then waved her off, smiling, watching her try not to twitch. As she disappeared into the crowd, he snatched another glass of champagne, saluting the grim trio standing across the way. It crossed his mind to stand outside the ladies' room to wait for his lady, but decided against it. She had her phone, he had his. What could go wrong? 

He was smirking to himself, as he pondered that very possibility. He hoped something would very much go wrong.

_**~~~...~~~** _

Genevieve had a time and a half in the bathroom. That man had another think coming if he thought she was ever going out in public again with anal beads up her butt! It occurred to her that all this squeezing was also tightening other things, but that was neither here nor there. She stepped out of the stall, washed her hands, turned, and almost ran smack into a rather angry, middle-aged woman. “Oh, I'm sorry.” She attempted to step around her.

The woman stepped back in her way. “I cannot believe you had the audacity to show your face here!” 

This woman was spoiling for a fight with someone. Genevieve looked up at her, holding her ground now. Several other women were in the restroom were staring at the two. One even opened the door and motioned for several other women to step in. “And why not?” 

“My husband's retirement party! How dare you-”

“Ooooooooh!” Genevieve gave a knowing nod. “You're Fickleass's wife!” 

“Excuse me?” 

Genevieve shook her head, a pitying look on her face. “You're married to Al. I'm so sorry.” This only made the woman angrier. “As I recall, this is actually a fundraiser for The High Museum and I was invited to that. That your husband is retiring is no concern of mine.” She went to step around the woman, but found her arm grabbed and squeezed painfully.

“You know exactly what I'm talking about!” 

“If you do not turn loose of me, I will knock you clear into the mens' restroom. If I bruise, I will make sure that when your husband stands trial for not only insider trading, but trying to steal my company,” gasps went in the air with that accusation, “you will stand next to him for assault. Do I make myself clear?” 

The woman turned her loose, but hissed, “My husband did nothing wrong and if you think we're going to sit back and allow you to smear our good name-”

“You know what?” Genevieve's back was up like a cat's. “Your husband smeared his name without any help from me! I wasn't the first one he's done this to, but I was the first one to fight back! I kept what was mine! As for what he's guilty of, we'll let the courts decide that. My money is on him going to jail.”

Al's wife's hands were balled into white-knuckled fists. “You're a bitch!” 

“Yes, I am! Twenty-four Karat Gold! Your husband attempted to financially destroy me, threatened to slander me and I have it on tape, not to mention, my entire staff overheard him say it! You better believe I'm going to fry him to make sure he never does it to anyone else again! Now step out of my way!” 

This time when Genevieve stepped around her, she let her go by. As Genevieve went through the bathroom door, one of Atlanta's gossipiest socialites ran after her. “Genevieve! What is that all about?” 

Genevieve was of a mind to tell her to mind her own business, but she figured word would be out and all over the museum within ten minutes. “Al Ficklebutte was forced to retire because he used illegal information to buy up stock in my company and he tried to use it to force me out of business. It didn't work and now the DA has charged him with insider trading. She's upset because her bank accounts are frozen!” She started to stomp off, but her hip gave out. Genevieve managed to grab a plant, but it wobbled and the woman she was speaking to grabbed her other hand. 

“Are you okay?” Genevieve suddenly remembered her name. Cecily. Cecily something or other dash other and she was THE Gossip of all Gossips. “You were in that horrible wreck. I remember.” 

“Yeah. Give me a moment.” Where was Guy when you needed him? _Oh yeah, upstairs looking at dead bodies. Like he needed to see that._ “Can I borrow your elbow for just a moment, Cecily?” Cecily immediately offered it. “There is an empty bench right over there and if I can sit for a moment, I'll be just fine.” 

Cecily might have been a wretched tattler, but she did have a good heart. She had Genevieve deposited on the bench in no time. Genevieve's entire left side was beginning to twinge and she realized she had none of her painkillers with her. Not even Tylenol. Before she could groan, Cecily was off to the cloak room to see if there was an aspirin anywhere in The High.

Genevieve waited for a few minutes, trying to get her bearings, trying to get her pain under control before it became out of control. But the truth was, those nasty little beads of Guy's were bothering her more than her hip at the moment. She squeezed, willing them up, up, up. 

Cecily returned with two Tylenol, graciously loaned by the coat-check girl, and a paper cup of water. She offered to stay with Genevieve, but it was obvious she wanted to be elsewhere, no doubt to begin spreading the news that Genevieve Robinson had set down Blanche Ficklebutte in the women's toilet, of all places! And that Al was being forced to retire!

Genevieve made sure to show off her engagement ring, so Cecily now had double duty of telling everyone that Al Ficklebutte had been indicted for insider trading and who knows what else, but also spreading the word that Genevieve was now well over Lamar Robencourt! 

For a short time, she watched the world waltz around her, taking in the noise, the bits and pieces of snatched conversation. For the first time, she looked at it through different eyes. For the first time, she wasn't on Lamar's arm and now that she was off of it, it seemed... spurious and concocted, much like walking through the mall and looking at clothing on a manikin, but not stopping to try anything on or experiencing anything deeper than the window. 

_Clothing always looked better on a manikin._

Up until her accident, she couldn't begin to think of giving this up, but now? As long as she had her company to run and Guy to hold her at night, to talk to over dinner, to discuss books and art...

She snorted. How many times had she been to The High for this or that, had donated money to the Museum, but yet not looked at a single painting, a single Faberge Egg? Not a statue, a collection, a photograph. She had admired the flowers on several occasions, but other than that? 

Her thoughts continued inwards. She had donated to The Symphony, but had yet to attend. How much money had she donated to the arts? The poor? And yet, she had enjoyed none of her -

“Genevieve? Gen?” 

She was jerked from her musings at the familiar voice. Her eyes wrenched upwards. She struggled to keep her voice calm. “Lamar.” 

He looked uncomfortable.

_Good! You fucking well need to feel uncomfortable and look uncomfortable and be uncomfortable!_

“Do you mind if I join you? Mind if I sit?” He motioned to the side of the bench that was vacant. Sitting there would put him close, touching her. She remembered...

“I don't think that would be wise.” 

His shoulders slumped at that. “I understand.” He lifted his face, a forced smile on his face. “You look well. How are you?”

Genevieve opened her mouth to answer, but she was interrupted by a shrill voice. “Lah-mar? Laaaah-MAR! Oh, there-ah- y'are!” A tall, painfully slender bleached blonde, wearing a too small dress and sky-scraper heels sidled up to Genevieve's former paramour. It was obvious this screeching harpy was Lamar's current photo squeeze and she was doing everything possible to be heard, be seen, and to make Genevieve jealous.

And strangely enough, Genevieve didn't care. 

_Remember who you are. Remember who you will be. You have the better man._

Suddenly, Genevieve wanted to be at Guy's side, she wanted to go home, she wanted Guy to undress her and make love to her.

But mostly she wanted to take those damned beads out! 

Lamar was occupied. She pulled her cell phone from her clutch and texted him. _Where r u? Home pls. Now. Banana!_

She rose slowly. “Actually, I have been sitting here long enough-” 

_Oh yeah still! He's on the top floor, looking at dressed cadavers-_

“and I need to move or this hip of mine will lock up even more.” 

“You had a hip replacement?” Savannah batted her eyes. “So young?” 

“No,” Genevieve answered just as syrupy. “I was in a rather serious car accident the end of September. I spent a long time in the hospital and in rehab.” She looked at Lamar with all the silent malevolence she could muster. “I broke or cracked everything on my left side. I am lucky to be alive,” she gritted through her teeth. 

“Oh dear! How awful!” Savannah was truly upset, both hands to her mouth. 

_You replaced me with her? With HER? Does this... bint... have a brain in her head? Oh sweet Jesus, I'm talking like Guy!_

The Bimbo was still talking. “Oh, I hope you sued whoever caused the wreck!” 

Genevieve's smile was tight. “It was my fault. My then boyfriend was a coward,” she turned her eyes to Lamar, watching him wilt, “and he called me to break up with me, while I had no access to the phone. We had planned a romantic weekend and he called me and left a voice mail, breaking up with me, while I was at the gym.” 

“So, y'were listenin' to yer voice may-ale an' it was just tha-air! Oh, that's jist awful, sugah!” Savannah was clinging to Lamar, who looked less enthused than ever. “Well, yore jist well ridda him, then, aren't'cha?” 

“Yes, I am.” Genevieve's beads slipped. She squeezed and sat back down. Her phone beeped. Checking the screen, she relaxed. 

_On my way. So is mother. Where are you?_

Genevieve texted back quickly. _Bench outside the women's room. Banana._

She added a pre-set graphic of the Despicable Me Minions for good measure.

[](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/ZeeDippyVessel/media/DE%20minion%20banana%201_zpsdgvx7eku.gif.html)  


Savannah was nattering on, pinching Lamar's cheek. “Well, ah gotta good 'un, didn't ah, Laah-mar?” He was pulling away from her. “Yew shure wuldn't do that, t'me, now would yew?”

Before Genevieve could tell her, _oh yes that sleezy little shit of a boyfriend of yours sure 'nuff can do that to you,_ a shadow fell over her. 

“Miss Robinson. I am certainly surprised to see you here.” 

Adelle Robencourt was standing to Lamar's other side, daring her to say anything. Genevieve felt as if by sitting, she was subservient to the woman. And while she might be submissive to Guy in the bedroom, she was not subservient to anyone. 

Especially the Gator!

She slowly rose, squeezing, willing the anal beads back up. “Adelle.” The woman's eyebrows rose at the familiar title. “Why would you be surprised to see me here?” 

_Say it. Say it, you bitch, that I don't belong here, that I'm out of my element, that I don't belong._

“Why, with your accident and all. Of course, you are rather brave to come without a proper escort, to help you if you need it.” She watched as Genevieve stood up. “Although I heard a rather silly rumor, you were here with your attorney. You seem to be moving rather stiffly.”

“Well, I needed to get out. Trust me, being cooped up doesn't help.”

“Perhaps, you should have stayed home.”

The implication was clear. “On my side of the tracks, you mean.” 

The Gator's smile was rancid. “Well, if the shoe fits...”

Savannah was taking this all in. She suddenly lit up with a vicious smile. “Genevieve. Genevieve. OH! Yore tha' Genevieve tha' Cecily is talking about!” 

“What is Cecily saying, Savannah?” Lamar was not holding his cool very well. 

Very subtly, Genevieve sent a second pre-loaded animation to Guy, one that hopefully would make him move a bit faster. 

**_BANANA!!!_ **

[](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/ZeeDippyVessel/media/banana_zpsapjxmidj.gif.html)

“Why, she's engaged t'tha' new attorney, the one from England or Ireland or one of those European islandy countries.”

“He is British.” 

Lamar looked at her in shock. “You're engaged?”

Genevieve lifted her hand, showing off the ruby. “The rumor is not so silly.”

“Oh my! Wuld ya jist look aht t'size of that rock! Oh,” Savannah was beside herself. “It mustta cost a four-tune!” She grabbed Genevieve's hand to get a closer look. “Although, ah must say, a rubay is a most unusual stone for an engagement ring.” 

“I prefer rubies. Guy likes me in red.” 

“This romance happened rather quickly.” Adelle was steaming. She looked Genevieve up and down. “Are you expecting?” 

“Mother!” Lamar was horrified and whispered his outrage. 

“Look at her, Lamar. With that dress? She was always a little pudgy, but now? Of course, she might be able to hide a pregnancy a little while, considering her weight.”

“Mother, you are being rude.” The small group was unaware they were attracting a crowd. 

“No, nonononono, Lamar. After three years of allowing me to be in her direct line of fire, where you did nothing to stop it, don't start defending me now! It's too little, too late!” This seem to catch Savannah off guard. “Let's be open and honest for a change. Your mother has always hated me. As far as she is concerned, I have stepped over my boundaries far too many times and would like to set me in my place, wouldn't you, Adelle?”

The woman simply smiled. “There is a place for you, Miss Robinson. High Society is not it. You should learn your place.”

“Oh really?,” Genevieve continued, lowering her voice to a barely audible hiss. “Who died and made you the Keeper of the 'Who's Who' list? For the record, I don't like you either. I find you to be over-bearing, narrow-minded, and a bigot of the worst sort. I tolerated you because I imagined myself in love with your son and I simply wanted to keep the peace!”

“Whaaaaat? Lah-mar?” Savannah was tugging at his sleeve. “What is she talking about?” 

“You certainly got over him fast enough,” the woman reminded Genevieve snidely. 

“Don't go there, bitch.” Guy had given her permission to lose her temper twice, by God, she was going to take him up on it. “I ran a red-light, because I was listening to your son act the fucking coward, by leaving me a message breaking up with me! He couldn't tell me in person! You raised an asshole!”

“Uhm, Genevieve-” 

“And I heard you in the background, as well!” Genevieve's finger came up. “Don't you start, or I'll have your southern-fried ass on slander charges!” Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Guy's mother moving serenely through the crowd. “Two weeks after my wreck, might I remind you, Lamar and this glorified idiot hanging on his arm,” Savannah was now outraged, “were photographed at the Red Cross Ball, like they had been together forever.” She turned to Savannah. “You are welcome to him. What I have now is gold!” 

“I... uhm...” Lamar was stuttering, “didn't know if you got my message.”

“Oh, I got it all right! I got it when I ran that red light! I certainly got it after seeing the two of you all over the society page, two weeks later. I was still in the hospital. We dated for three years and you couldn't be assed enough to at least call? Send me a note? Make a comment on my Facebook? _Hey Gen, heard you were in a wreck. Are you okay?_ I got your message all right! You are exactly what your mother raised; someone as self-centered as herself!” She drew up. “When did you lose your humanity? Your compassion?” She snarled. “Or did you simply not have any and I missed it?”

She refocused her fury on Lamar's mother. “For the record, I've known Guy for many years. We met some time back, when I was doing some architectural and legal research in Nottingham. We lost touch over time and the Monday I returned to my office earlier this month was the first time I have seen him in years! I didn't even realize he was representing me with my hostile takeover. It was a shock when he walked into my office! The timing and the chemistry was perfect. I have wasted enough time on someone who didn't give two figs for me and were not worthy of me. I will not squander another minute looking when what I desire and need,” she reached out a hand as Guy approached, carrying his coat and her stole, “is already standing with me.” 

“My lady,” Guy's voice was dangerously soft, “your voice carries. This will be the talk of the town for weeks.” Genevieve had no idea when Guy walked up behind her, but emotionally, she immediately gravitated towards him. “Are you ready to leave? I had hoped to show you the mummies upstairs. They are fascinating.”

“They can wait!” Genevieve snapped. “My hip is killing me, as are a few other things we have discussed!” 

“'Tis a good thing I called for my driver. Can you walk?” 

She squeezed again. _Nope_. “In your words, 'tis difficult.” 

Guy pulled his cell phone from his pocket and called his driver, making sure he met the twosome in the front of the museum.

The Gator wasn't finished. “From the way I hear he operates, perhaps you've managed to latch on to someone who wants to climb that social ladder as much as yourself, dear.”

That stopped Genevieve in her tracks. A hiss was heard through the crowd that was watching and Guy pulled up to his full 6 foot 3 inch frame. “Ambitious. We are both ambitious.” 

“A social climber? Did you call me a social climber?” Genevieve's finger was raised and she stabbed at Adelle with it. “You know what? You can kiss my hairy, unwashed, lily-white, Rebel ass! You might as well get on your knees in front of whatever altar it is you pray to because you know I am justified! And Do NOT!” she shoved a finger in the woman's face, “make me put on heels and stand up and say that again because I will be on your ass like white on rice and I will go through you like a dose of salts!”

Before he could say more, the stately, dignified woman that was his mother strode into the circle. She laid a hand on his arm. “I will settle this. Sit Genevieve down before she collapses. I have called for a wheelchair.” She then turned on Adelle. “Now, you listen to me, you over-made-up, old tart!” She didn't give anyone a chance to interject. “My son was born sitting atop of that social ladder you are so desperate to climb! You will not misalign my son or my future daughter-in-law, who I adore not only for her moxie, but because she makes my son smile. For your information, when she marries Guy, her title will be Lady Genevieve and you will address her as such or I will do you grievous harm.” 

“She has a crossbow,” Genevieve stage whispered. The wheelchair arrived and Guy was lowering her into it. “She knows how to use it.” 

“Shot a burglar when I was a boy,” Guy smiled at a horrified Lamar. “He was armed and she shot him with a crossbow.” 

“She will be the wife of an earll!” Elyana was just getting started. “She will also be a Duchess and a Baroness, as well as the wife of a landed knight.” 

“Mother, I do not claim my titles.” 

“You should claim your titles, Guy Crispin FitzGisborne! By the saints, your ancestors worked hard enough to procure them for you and your children!” 

“Oh, full name,” Genevieve whispered to the man bending over her. “You know, you're in trouble.” 

“A knight?” Savannah squeaked. “Thay still dew tha'?” 

“When she marries him, she will be all that.”  
 _  
Remember who you are. Remember who you will be._

“She will be all that when she marries my son this summer. And you?” Oh, Elyana Eastbrook-FitzGisborne had reached the climax of her argument now. “You will still be nothing more than a common missus.” 

Adelle huffed up and attempted to storm between Elyana and Guy, but Guy took her by the arm. “Tell your brother-in-law, if he is wise, he will urge his client to take the deal the DA and I are working up together. It will go easier on his client.” She snatched her arm from the knight, her face very red. “Also, you are so proud of your blue blood. I can trace my paternal lineage to a Norman-French Crusader Knight born around 1120 and his wife's lineage - a French - Angevin noblewoman – back further into the 11th century and my maternal lineage equally as far. How far can you trace your son's maternal or paternal lineage? Or yours?” He leaned over and whispered in her ear. “Think about it before you begin to sling mud about my wife.”

Adelle staggered back, the implications clear, while Guy grabbed the handles of the wheelchair and rolled Genevieve out. 

“Guy!” Elyana ran up next to them, the crowd parting for the trio. “This is very poor timing, but this is a fundraiser-”

Genevieve grabbed her clutch. “I have a check, I completely forgot.” 

“As do I.” Guy reached into his inside jacket pocket. Both Guy and Genevieve handed them to Elyana. “Please take care of it for us.” Looking out the front, he could see his driver waiting patiently by the car, impervious to the cold. He kissed his mother on both cheeks. “Genevieve's grandmother is arriving in the morning and I understand Genevieve has appointments with several bridal salons.” 

“Frederick is at our disposal?” 

“Yes.” 

“Oh my gawd, I'll be squired in a limo all day! Will wonders never cease?” 

With more help than she needed, Guy and Frederick slid her into the limo, Guy handing the wheelchair to the uniformed man who followed them out. Guy leaned over to his man. “Take your time, Frederick. Her problem isn't her hip.” Guy didn't miss the man's very knowing smile. As Frederick got in behind the wheel, he made sure the windows between the cockpit and the cabin were rolled tight and he turned the volume up to drown out what was obviously going to be going on behind him.

_  
**~~~...~~~** _

As the limo pulled from the curb, Genevieve scooted to the far side of the car, her right side against the seat. “Get them out! Please don't ever do this to me again! Get them out!”

Guy managed to shrug out of his coat, laying it on the unused seat across from him. He took his time adjusting the temperature in the cabin and removing Genevieve's stole. Sliding up between her legs, he kissed her, much like he had the very first time he kissed her in Nottingham. “While I admit the Minion excited over the banana made me chuckle, the second one made my more manly parts shrivel. Where did you get them?” 

“You would be shocked at what you can find on the internet! Now, get those things out now!”

“Did you have a good time?” 

“I spent more time worrying about these nasty beads-”

“Telling off The Gator gave you no pleasure?” He continued to kiss the side of her face, her ear, her neck. Genevieve was sliding down the seat, more into a reclining position. He reached behind her and began to unzip her dress.

“Telling off the Gator gave me much pleasure!” 

“This much pleasure?” The top of her dress was loose and he pulled the neckline down about her elbows. He yanked at the lacy brassiere, exposing her nipples and proceeded to devour them. 

“Un... un... un...fairrrrr....”

He lifted his head, his eyes glinting in the low light of the cabin. “I do not hear you complaining.” 

“I'm going to complain rather loudly if you do not continue and if you don't get these damned beads out of my ass asap!” She shook her finger at him. “You told them I'm your wife!”

“You are my wife!” Guy chuckled as he lowered his head back to the delightful task he had set for himself, his fingers drifting down to cup and stroke her. “I believe you are wet for me.” 

“It's the lube, dammit!” 

Guy raised his head. In the strobe-like light from the highway lamps, for a moment, she could see that long-haired knight she had fallen in love with centuries before. It was a strange and eerie deja vu. She leaned forward, cupping that familiar, beloved face and kissed him, taking charge, taking possession of his mouth. She lingered there, gloried in his taste, his scent, and in her mind, going back so long ago, to a time that was now history. 

_Their history._  
  
“What are you seeing in your mind's eye, my lady?” 

“My knight.” The back of her fingers dragged across, stroked his cheek, before her thumb caressed his lower lip. “You. You in your glory.”

[](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/ZeeDippyVessel/media/tumblr_inline_myt58z3Tnu1ra8r3x_zps29cc6a27.jpg.html)  


He sucked in the digit, tasting the salt of her, making her catch her breath, nipping at the pad, before moving down between her legs. He inhaled, taking in her unique scent, something that was for him and no one else. As he found her, spread her, took her in, his mouth surrounded her clit, the pearl seeds of the g-string, sucking it and them in, his tongue toying with the different textures of pearl and skin, successfully driving her mad. His fingers delved deep, reaching for her, making her squirm, her back arch. There was no giving of leeway, no waiting for her to relax, work for it, reach for it. He pushed her, forced her to accelerate to that pinnacle, the teasing of his tongue, the pearls, his fingers giving no quarter. Guy was vaguely aware of when her left hand hit the glass of the outer window, of when her back arched and her breath caught, and when she verbally hit that point of no return, he popped the beads out slowly, one at a time, causing a new and added sensation that cascaded along with her climax.

As she caught her breath, he reached down with his left hand and, loosened his trousers, pushing them down just far enough. He raised up, rubbing himself against her possessively, coating himself, rolling the intimate apparel between the two of them. 

“While you taste faintly of strawberry, I tasted you, my lady.” The anal beads dangled from his pinkie. “Where is your clutch?” he breathed heavily in her ear. “I do not wish to leave and possibly forget these in the floor or the seat.”

It dawned on her what he wanted it for. “You are not putting those in my purse!” 

“They are not going in my coat or pants pocket.” 

“Well, they are not going in my purse!” 

Guy smiled evilly. “I could put them back where they came from.” For a split second, he shriveled in fear when he saw the furious look on her face. “Or,” he backtracked with all the chivalry he could muster, “I could just dispose of these and buy you another set next time we play.” 

“How are you going to dispose of them?” 

With a leer, he pressed the button on the armrest behind her and listened to the window glide down. A blast of frigid air invaded the cabin of the vehicle, temporarily bringing the body temperature of the two individuals to unexpected lows. With a practiced flick of his wrist, he flung the beads out the window, his interest in them gone by the time they left his fingers. He rolled the window back up, relishing the heat again. “There. Problem taken care of.” He rubbed against her again. “Now, where were we?” 

“We,” Genevieve wrapped her arms around Guy's neck, her legs pulling him closer, her pussy calling him as only it could, “are practicing making a baby.” She was now fully reclined on the seat, her ass hanging off the edge. Guy was on his knees in the floor. 

“We need to practice?” He rose up, impaling her to the hilt. 

“Oh, yes. A lot.”

The sound of the tires speeding down the asphalt, along with the strains of the Mozart Concerto Frederick was listening to completely drowned out Guy's chuckle.

_**~~~...~~~** _

The beads flew out the window, freed from the dark confines of the woman's body and tossed thoughtlessly into the black cold night. The truth was, the woman would rarely think of them again, while the man would muse on occasion in years to come, remembering the evening with great fondness.

As they rose in the wind, they hit the restraining wall of the interstate once, before bouncing up and over, falling into the ravine below...

And hitting the homeless man on the head.

“OW! Wot zat?” VC rubbed his bald pate, looking up into the starry sky. He stepped away from the burn barrel, looking for the fallen object. 

“God is judging us!” Bella, the lone woman and the tallest of the threesome, was mesmerized by the flying sparks in the fire. She raised her hands like a crazed hag. “He is raining hellfire and brimstone-”

“Oh, shut it!” The last of the threesome, John, was as diminutive as VC, but the most vocal. “God isn't judging you! I am!” 

“I found it! I found it!” VC clutched his prize to his chest as he ran to the light of the barrel. He held up a string of beads, admiring the slick sheen of the 'jewels'

Bella ooh'd in appreciation.

John held his hand out. “As king, I demand the necklace. It is my due!” 

VC pulled them back towards his chest, both hands covering the prized possession. “You are not king! You're a pretender and they hit me in the head, so they are mine!” 

“Do not make me call up my army, VC.” He crooked his fingers. “Hand them over.” 

“Army? Wot army?” 

John gestured grandly behind him, blithely unaware there was nothing but scrub bushes there.

“There ain't no army!”

“There is so!” 

Bella stepped from the warmth of the burn barrel. “There ain't no army and I think as the only woman here, they should be mine!”

“Wot wo-man?” 

Bella's face turned ugly in the flames. “Me. Now hand them over.” 

John ordered his shadow army to charge. 

Both woman and pretender attacked the bald one, all three falling to the ground, grunting and kicking and punching...

Bella stood up, victorious, holding the beads up in the firelight. “Aha!” Starting with the ring, she worked to the end, grimacing at the dirt that was now sticking to her prize. “Oy, they smell!” She took a whiff. “Smell like strawberries an'... an'... VC! You shat on them!” 

VC pulled up to his full height, which was unimpressive and yanked down on his coat. “I did not!” 

Bella rubbed them on her filthy, ragged coat, trying to scrub the dirt, lube, and scent from them, before inspecting them again. “Oy! They're broken! There's no catch!” Her eyes lit angrily on VC. “You broke them!” She thought for a moment, before brightening. She ran to her shopping cart, digging through the bags before finding the old, rusty wire cutters in the bottom of one of the bags. Snipping through the ring, she then used the loop as a hoop and ran it through the earring hole in her ear. 

And then proceeded to promenade around the burn barrel, showing off her new, dangling earring to an imaginary, applauding audience.

_**~~~...~~~** _

_**His lips are like some roses fair** _

_**~~~...~~~** _

****  
__  


tbc

_Ne pas mettre à l'aise, peu bête_ \- Do not get comfortable, little beast. 


	42. 41 - The LORD do so to me and more also

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **There is one more chapter after this and the epilogue. Both are complete and back from the betas. Chapter 42 will post on the 23rd and the Epilogue on the 30th, barring any unforeseen problems, like car wrecks, family emergencies, or computer breakdowns. I have begun the arduous task of conversion for this. It's not my intention to remove this version, as there will be a LOT of changes, especially to the 12th century part, to the original.**
> 
>  
> 
> **And so, it begins.**

_**Manna from Heaven** _

**_Chapter 41_ **

_**the LORD do so to me and more also,** _

February winds blew, before giving way to a March spring that wouldn't last long and April charging in fast and furious. As rapidly as the season moved, so did Genevieve's life. The winds buffeted the earth, much as Genevieve felt dragged along by the sudden acceleration of her professional life, her business growth, and her personal life. Lamar thought he lived the high life.

Before it was over, Genevieve was certain Lamar only played at it. He had no clue, none at all. 

But that was neither here or there. Genevieve just knew that her merry go round of a life was now a whirlwind and on the fast track and if she wasn't careful, she'd fall off. 

But Guy would catch her. She knew that. She trusted him and she would never hit the ground. 

Having a Dom was right nice most times. 

_MOST times._

“You are deep in thought, chickie-poo. Penny for your thoughts?” 

For not the first time, Val caught Genevieve staring out the window, seemingly enthralled by the skyline. Genevieve was hugging herself as she looked over her shoulder. “Enjoying this short time of respite and quiet.” 

Val had a large file and set it on her desk before seeing a manila folder on Genevieve's desk. She picked it up and opened it. “Prenuptial agreement?” 

“Yeah.” Genevieve's attention was returned to the skyline. “He says he's being generous and everything is negotiable.” 

“You've not read it?” Val was flitting through it, turning the pages. Guy FitzGisborne was a wealthy man and he owned a great deal of property, businesses, personal wealth. A divorce, if Genevieve decided to be vindictive, could be devastating. 

“I started it. You know me. The language goes over my head. I've talked to George and he and I will go over it over lunch on Friday. Guy was going to go over with me today at lunch, but his jury selection is going to take all day and maybe tomorrow.” She sighed. “I think I'll either skip lunch or just have Mallory or Emily grab me a sandwich while they are at lunch.” 

Val was still flipping through the pages. “Guy will not be pleased. You know how he gets if he thinks you aren't taking care of yourself.” 

“Not if you don't tell him.” 

“Seeing you in a coma literally brought the man to his knees. In all of his years and lives, I have never seen him so devastated, all for worry of you.” Val reached the end. “You realize this isn't just a pre-nup.” She pulled the sheet out, scrutinizing the hand-written paper. 

“What?” 

Val handed the sheet to Genevieve. “Chickie-poo. I have known you for a long time.” 

Genevieve snatched the paper from her office manager. Her eyes widened when she saw what was on it. 

The outlines of a D/s contract.  
 **  
 _?hard limits, +soft limits, XXXnot to be discussed or considered, !yes, ?curious, *let's discuss this. Remember, you have the right to say no._  
**  
 _I have seen enough bruises on your body to last a lifetime. It is not my desire or intention to inflict more._

Blood flushed to her face. “Val, I-” 

“But, I have known Guy for far, far longer.” She gestured for the paper and returned it behind the prenuptial. She closed the folder and placed it on the corner of Genevieve's desk. “I am not shocked by that. The Lifestyle suits him. It suits you. Might I give you some advice?”

Genevieve turned her back to the skyline. “Val. I am coming to grips with the fact my Office Manager is an angel; an agent of God, one who probably hangs out and goes to the movies and eats dinner with the Angel of Death. There are times, a little blue-haired angel, who is probably God's grandmother, runs around on the outskirts of my life, dropping hints and giving me well-placed life hints on dealing with That Man! I'm still trying to figure out why the Heavens are interested in me and why Guy has been allowed to spend lifetimes to make up for mistakes he made over eight centuries ago in order to be with me. And you're asking if you can give me advice?” 

Val nodded her head from shoulder to shoulder with an _'Aw shucks'_ air. “I've known Guy a long time. A very long time. I have known him in all of his lifetimes, all of his reincarnations. But most importantly, I have known him from the first one. The first time he was Guy of Gisborne. I was there in the shadows, the first time he drew breath. Guy was born for certain purposes, to provide and protect. That is what he was born to do. It's what drives him. To provide. To protect. When his father left for the Holy Land, it was his job to protect his family, his mother and his sister. When his father returned from the Holy Land with leprosy, it was again Guy's desire, his job, to protect his family, to provide for them, to keep them together. Genevieve, he wanted to protect his mother, his sister. He deeply desired to protect Marian. And to protect, he had to provide for her. Over time, he has protected the interests of Henry III, managed not once, but twice to pull off the heist, the sham of the century. He faked the death of one monarch and hid him in France until the man truly died and he managed to smuggle out or tuck away the majority of the wealth and library of a convent while the monarch in question robbed and stripped the Church of all of its wealth. He protected and provided for the sisters in his care, by removing them as well and providing for them elsewhere. He has spent lifetimes protecting others, providing for them, and many lifetimes preparing to protect you and to provide for you. Even if you had lost to Ficklebutte, you would have been well-provided for and taken care of, as would your employees! There is a reason his mother, his financial firm owns stock in so many architectural firms. Every one of you employees would have had a place to go! He was prepared to pull every string he could. This,” she waved to the manila folder on the desk, “is simply an extension of that, of his need to protect and provide for you. If it scares you, tell him.” 

“I'm not scared of him.” Genevieve now turned and began to pace slowly across the office. “We went to a BDSM club last weekend. It was exclusive, you have to be approved, Doms have to pass tests to play there. Guy is considered a Master, the highest level.”

“Of course, he would be and where he took you was a very safe place, I'm sure.” 

“It's just... some things I'm curious about, some things I do want to try. Some things...” she shuddered. 

“Everyone is different, chickie-poo. I understand communication is key in this. So is trust. He needs you to trust him. He needs you to let him protect and provide for you.” There was a slight pause. “He has spent eight centuries preparing to do that. He has been tenacious in his care.”

Genevieve opened her mouth to respond, but Emily stuck her head in the door. “Genevieve?” She slid into her office, closing the door behind her. “Genevieve,” she was whispering, “Lamar Robencourt is in your reception area. He wants to talk to you.” She looked to make sure the door was still shut. 

“What does he want?”

“I can tell him you've got a client, in a meeting, working on a project.”

Genevieve snarled. “Oh, let him in. I'm curious as to what he wants. Probably wants to jump me for being rude to his mom. Might as well hear him out and get it over with. Tell him my meeting is almost over and to wait until Val leaves.” Emily almost genuflected before leaving.

“It's been more than a few weeks since the High incident. I don't see him stewing about something that long.” Val tapped the folder she brought in. “The outline specs and requested budget for the Windstome Project are on your desk. Take a look. You might be interested in bidding on it, you might not. Take it with a grain of salt and consider the time and your schedule. Trust your gut.” She leaned forward and whispered. “The little blue-haired angel is not God's grandmother. She is the angel of Passionate Love and she loves happy endings! I believe you and Guy were Anael's favorite project!” With that, Val left the office, leaving the door open and Genevieve staring at her desk. 

“Genevieve?” 

She inhaled deeply. Not turning around, she went around her desk and sat down, in an attempt to get in control. “Hello, Lamar. What can I do for you?” 

Lamar looked around her office. “You know, I do believe this is the first time I've ever been in your office.” He grabbed the nearest chair and pulled it around to the front of her desk. 

“What do you want?” Genevieve was shocked at how calm she sounded. “You haven't come by to look at my office after all these years.” 

He ran his fingers through his hair. He only did that when he was nervous 

Genevieve hoped she was making him very nervous. 

“I... thought... I would take you to lunch. I think I probably owe it to you.” 

“Consider the debt canceled. You owe me nothing. I have things to do.” She leaned back, feeling as powerful as she did the day Albert Ficklebutte walked into her office, thinking he was going to take her company. “If you wanted my presence at lunch, you could have called. You didn't. I'm a very busy woman, so either tell me what you want. Or leave.” 

He bent over on his elbows. The man looked positively defeated. “I came to apologize.”

Genevieve spun her finger. 

“I came to apologize for a lot of things. After you said that mouthful to Mother and to me, I got to thinking. You're right. I've been an insensitive bastard. I should have taken you out and broken up with you, I should have treated you better, I shouldn't have allowed Mother to dig at you and demean you.” He laughed to himself. “I figured one day you would stand up to her. I wanted to witness that. Boy, did you ever!” 

“Do you know why I didn't?” He shook his head. “Because I didn't want to cause a rift between you and her. She was your mother, not mine. And at the time, I thought I loved you so much, I thought we had a future. The last thing I wanted was to spend the rest of my life with a mother-in-law who hated me.” 

“She already hated you, Genevieve,” he admitted quietly. “She hated you the minute I introduced you to her. Called me after I took you home and demanded I break up with you immediately. Thing is...” his voice drifted off. 

“Thing is what? Don't back out on me now.” She watched him turn red. “Lamar, you can't hurt me anymore. I've moved on; obviously, you have as well.” Lamar jerked his head up in shock. “What?” 

“Savannah? You think I've moved on?” He shot up out of his chair and wandered over to the Genevieve's filing cabinet, picking up the pictures one at a time. He picked up a casual framed picture of Genevieve and Guy. “You think I'm really interested in that bubble brain?” 

“Well, apparently she thinks so. So does your mother.” 

He showed the picture he was holding to Genevieve. “He's a tough attorney. I was privileged to watch him in action last week. An embezzlement case. I hope to God I never have to sit on the opposing side of him. Brutal.” He shook his head. “Blood-thirsty.” 

_Oh, you have no idea._

“Savannah did a favor for my mother and mother asked that I squire her about for a few events. Actually, she started pestering me to take her out two years ago, right after she moved to town from New Orleans. She needed to meet people, get her foot in the door. She became downright obnoxious right after we broke up, right after your wreck, I wanted to contact you, but I let mother talk me out of it. She thought getting out would be good for me, but I think she feared that if I approached you, we would get back together. I'll never forgive myself for that. Never. He's good to you? He's really good to you?” Lamar was bouncing around verbally and mentally; obviously he had a lot on his mind and he was not doing a very good job of focusing. 

“Why would you care?” 

The man blinked. “Gen. I did care for you. I still do. I just... just...didn't”

“You just didn't love me.” This was somewhere Genevieve did not wish to go. “Do you even like Savannah?” 

“God, no! She's annoying as hell!” This was probably the most vulnerable and honest Genevieve had ever seen her former boyfriend. “She works for a stock broker or is one, I don't know, but she has nothing but helium between her ears. I took her to two events, and she and Mother decided we were an item and engaged. She's been nagging me about the ASO event coming up in December, but I've told her she needs to find another escort.” Both hands were in his pockets. “I think I'm going to take some time off from social whirl for a while. I'm fed up with it.” 

“Sounds it.” 

“You know,” he was just rambling now, “I really like you as a person, Gen. You're tough and scrappy and funny and I just couldn't keep up with you. You like to do weird things, I'm sure they're fun, I'm just not... If I had been honest, I wouldn't have asked you out again after our third date. Hell, I wouldn't have introduced you to my mother, but I knew she would hate you.”

This revelation was more than she really wanted to hear. But like a train wreck, she couldn't back away. “So why did you waste my time?” 

Now the man was full of regret. So full of it. “Because, I'm a coward. You're right. I was a coward. And she hated you so much. I've done everything she's demanded for years. She chose my dates, my home, my car, my clothes. She's arranged my social life. And I've let her do it. It felt good to go out with you, knowing it was pissing her off.” 

“Well, aren't you the rebellious little bastard,” Genevieve murmured drolly. 

“Yeah, it felt like it.” Lamar completely missed Genevieve's sarcasm. “I did enjoy your company, though. You are a lot of fun. I always thought double-dating with you would be enjoyable.” He began to twiddle his thumbs. “I am thinking that Mother shouldn't be allowed in polite society. I never realized how rude or how abrasive she is. Or,” he admitted, “I simply ignored it. I've decided to get off to the bank, so to speak, and put her on an allowance. After the High fiasco, I would like to retire her to the country home or send her abroad for a year.” He turned and looked down, seeing the legal folder with the large print across the front _'Prenup_ ' and picked it up. “You are really going to marry him.” 

Genevieve became alarmed. She knew what was in the back of the folder. “Yes, I am. He's made me happier than I've ever been.” She reached out to the folder. “I'll take that.” 

Lamar opened it up. “I recall you and the legal jargon didn't get along very well. Have you hired an attorney to go over this with you?” 

“George is having lunch with me on Friday to go over it.” Again, she waved her hand.

Lamar shook his head. “George is your fiancée's partner. That's a conflict of interest.” 

“He was my attorney first.” 

Lamar was reading the agreement. 

“Lamar, I'm not going to pay you.” 

“Pro bono advice then.” He continued reading. “HOLY COW! Titles, my God. You will have a list of titles! Lady Eastbrook... Duchess... Baroness... Your future mother-in-law wasn't kidding! Mother is screaming about that, by the way. I find it funny. Let's see... He's paying off your condo. It's yours, title free and clear. Same with your car. He will provide you with a new vehicle every two years until your death, regardless.” He peered up over the top of the folder. “You're buying a house in town?” 

They had been looking at houses every weekend. “Yes. My condo is too small and his apartment is smaller.” 

“So, why is he paying off the condo, because in case of divorce, the house in town will be yours as well.” 

The condo had truly been her first home. Hers. “We expect his brother to be in town often, and his mother. He will also have clients in and out. He's the owner of Eastbrook Financiers, my business is expanding as well, so we'll use the place in lieu of a hotel.” 

“Smart move. You can count the property taxes and whatnot off your taxes as an office expense. The stock his firm owns of yours is yours to command.” Lamar's eyes hadn't left the page. “Speaking of, that was damn fine luck, him owning enough of your stock to knock Ficklebutte out. You know my uncle is representing him. They asked me to. I refused.”

“Conflict of interest?” 

“No.” Lamar was still looking at the documents in hand. “He's guilty as fuck and I figured you have had enough of me. Mother demanded I take the case, but I told her it would be an insult and cruel; quite frankly, and it went against my craw. I actually told her that! I have no idea why she wants to crush you into the ground. I've had other girlfriends she didn't like, but you... sometimes I think if you left Georgia or disappeared off the face of the planet all together, she'd be happy. Either way, Ficklebutte deserves all the shit that's getting ready to fall on him! Oh, FitzGisborne owns a house in upstate New York. That will be yours. And an apartment in Manhattan.” 

Genevieve was in shock. “What am I supposed to do with so many houses?” 

Lamar was still reading. “Write down these addresses and Google them.” He started listing the addresses in New York. “There is property in... Nottinghamshire? Gisborne?” He looked up. “As in Guy of Gisborne in Robin Hood?” 

Genevieve was nodding affirmatively. “Yes. As in Robin Hood.”

Lamar's brain gears were churning. “There was a poem about a Guy of Gisborne. Do you think he might rela....” He shook his head, refusing to believe the obvious. “Nah. Can't be. Anyway, that is yours. Not the poem, of course; the property. According to this, it's the original Gisborne property that has been in the family since... the 12th century and the house was rebuilt by Edward FitzGisborne for his mistress. That's yours as well. There is a stipulation that if the two of you divorce and the two of you have no children, the Gisborne property is to be returned to the family upon your death. Oh, as well as the winery in France-”

This brought Genevieve up. Back when she first met him, she had begged Guy to buy a home in France, leave England, and grow grapes. He had mentioned a small winery, but... “What about the winery?” 

Lamar stood up, dropping the folder in his seat and came around Genevieve's desk, his arms going around her to the keyboard. “Estruisseau Vins. Eastbrooke Wines.” The website for the vineyard came up on Genevieve's screen. “I know this wine. I can't afford their Gold Label and I've only had their regular label once or twice. Best wine I've ever had the opportunity of putting on my palette.” Genevieve was uneasy in the man's very loose embrace and Lamar didn't seem to be aware that she was uncomfortable. He scrolled from screen to screen. “According to the pre-nup, if the two of you divorce, this is yours. Oh, you'll like this.” He clicked a tab. 

The screen lit up, a beautiful country French manor taking up the screen. Genevieve's heart caught in her throat. It was her house. It was a French version of her house that she planned when she thought...

_That man saw that as well. He built my home..._

“He told me it was just a small farm. Nothing much.” She peered at the name on the page.

_Ma demande de la Vierge – My Lady's Request._

“Nothing much, my ass.” Lamar pushed off from the desk and returned to his chair, picking up the folder before sitting back down. “The Vineyard and property are located in Lanquedoc, near the Mediterranean. Beautiful location. The winery is well known and very prosperous. As I said, the wine is most excellent. Gen, the revenues alone from the winery will make you a millionaire many times over.” He opened the folder again, flipping through the pages of the contract. “I would suggest you hire an attorney and an accountant well versed in French business law and tax code. Their government is of the mindset – what is yours, is really ours. Tax laws there are convoluted to say the least.” 

“Nice place to visit, but I wouldn't want to live there?” She was getting antsy about the folder he was holding. 

“Gen, if the two of you divorce, it looks to me as if he is giving you pretty much the whole kit and caboodle. You will retain your titles, you will be given a rather generous stipend to live on, the taxes on the six homes and the estates will be covered by this Earl of yours, so I guess you won't have to worry about the taxes on the winery or the income from the winery. Stock in the bicycle factory, the lace factory, and a fair amount of personal stock as well.” He continued to read. “If the two of you have children, you will retain the apartments to all of his estates until your death. The one in Locksley, the one in Eastbrook, there is a London townhouse, you'll have access to... a home in Paris... The only stipulation I'm seeing is if the two of you have children, everything left to you by your husband, is to go to the children, with the exception of your condo, the house in Atlanta and the house in upstate New York. Those are yours to keep and do with as you will. And if you don't have children, the Gisborne property and the French winery, as well as the property attached to his titles are to be returned to the family upon your death. He doesn't want to share with any children you might have by anyone else or see it go to anyone else.” 

“I wouldn't think he would.” Genevieve was stunned. “That's understandable. Much of this has been in his family for hundreds of years.” 

_He fought so hard, gave up so much of his humanity, to regain Gisborne...to provide..._

There was a buzz – “Ms. Robinson?” Emily sounded terrified. “There is a man-”

“Just tell her, beautiful.” 

“Archer FitzGisborne is here to see yo-WAIT! You can't-” 

“Can't wot?” The door flew open and Guy's larger-than-life brother strode in. He took one look at Lamar. “Genevieve!” he snarled. “You have a meeting?” He pulled out his cell and slid his finger over the screen. “No. Guy says he stood you up for lunch and I was to make sure you eat.”

Lamar stood up, unaware that Genevieve's future brother-in-law was eying him as if to measure him for his casket, and laid the folder back on Genevieve's desk, much to her relief. “I was just leaving. Genevieve, my advice is to sign it. He has provided for you, very well.” He ducked his head. “And again. I'm sorry. But you've come out smelling like a rose and I'm happy for you.” Now, he was blushing. “I hope you can forgive me and we can be friends... or friendly acquaintances, at least.” He turned to the door.

“Lamar.” 

He pivoted, looking like a puppy, begging for a treat. “Yes?” 

“I accept your apology. Thank you. However,” Genevieve started to swallow what she was going to say, but had second thoughts, “I heard what your mother was saying when you called.” She looked up at him, fury so very evident in her eyes. “Tell her if she ever repeats it or is stupid enough to say that to my face, my fury will be a firestorm. I have been kind. I no longer feel the need to be. Lamar,” he turned back again, “if you don't see a future with a woman, don't string her along and don't use her as bait for your mother. The next one might have a vindictive brother.”

He nodded her, to Archer before leaving the office, shutting the door softly behind him. 

“Or a deadly future husband or brother-in-law!”

Genevieve waited a moment before addressing the man in her office. “Archer! When did you return?” The smile on her face was genuine.

The man, on the other hand, looked none too happy. He immediately began sweeping the room for bugs. “I landed an hour ago and the minute I turned my phone on when I stepped off the flight, I discovered my brother left three text messages and two voice mails concerning your eating habits. I came straight here because he is convinced you are starving and I walk in to find your former lover sitting in a chair, telling you to sign,” he leaned over the desk, “your prenuptial agreement with my brother.” One finger came up. “Something is fishy in Denmark and I do hope you have a wonderful explanation.” 

Genevieve came around her desk and leaning on it, crossed her arms over her chest. “Why, Archer, long time, no see, how was your trip, and I love you too.” The man grinned, an evil smile reminiscent of his brother. “I was just as shocked as you were when that man showed up. For the record, he came to apologize for being a douche bag and to inform me he's going to try to rein in his mother.” Archer rolled his eyes. “Apparently, he wasn't aware of how rude she is.” 

“Genevieve, I hope you are not so naive to believe that twaddle.” 

“I think he's sorry. I know he's shallow. I know he's STILL shallow! He's no angel and I'm not about to let him off the hook for being a panty wipe, but I really believe he's sorry. And I have every intention of talking about the visit with Guy tonight over dinner.” She abruptly changed the subject. “So where are you taking me for lunch?” 

“I am,” he hugged her before took her arm, “to take you somewhere out of the building for nourishment. I understand Baker Street on the other side of Peachtree is teaming with little eateries.” 

With that, the two left, in search of a Greek Gyro and spent the next two hours taking goofy food pictures and texting them to a grumpy Guy stuck in court, which had recessed on a technicality yet again.

_  
**~~~...~~~** _

Needless to say, Guy was NOT pleased when he discovered Genevieve's ex-boyfriend had visited out of the blue. He damn near threw a tantrum, when Genevieve told him Lamar had picked up her prenup and translated it for her. He was slightly (not really) mollified when she told him Lamar said he – Guy – was being beyond generous and she should just go ahead and sign it as is.

“I have no idea what I saw in him to begin with.” Genevieve scowled up at Guy. “None, whatsoever.” 

Guy however, did see what she was drawn to. “Power. You saw that he has power and prestige-”

“Now you're making me sound shallow!” 

Guy wiped his mouth and set his napkin next to his plate. “From as far back as I can remember, from the very beginning, women have sought out, been drawn to powerful men. Fathers and brothers looked for husbands for their daughters and sisters who would protect them, protect their interests and children. Men who would provide for them, even in hard times. I suspect deep down, that is what you were looking for.” He picked his fork back up, his attention returning to his plate. “Call me a Neanderthal or caveman, if you like. I will not shy away from nor deny my beliefs and all the gleaning of civilization and culture I have seen firsthand. There is,” he pointed at her with his fork, “no shame in it.”

“Guy! That's batshit!” Genevieve was not believing that for a moment, or didn't want to. “Men have been selling their daughters into holy wedlock in exchange for money and land for centuries! You yourself,” she wagged a finger, “have married for such purposes! Don't deny it!”

Guy's eyebrows rose in shrewd calculation. “And you, my lady wife, will live better for it, as will our children.”

“Seeing how I have no land or money, you got the short shrift with me!” Genevieve huffed. She quickly changed subjects. “Poor thing, I almost feel sorry for him.” 

“Wot?” Guy did not want her feeling anything for Lamar. Not even pity! “Why?” 

Genevieve was toying with her dinner. “Well, he really dislikes Savannah.” 

“Then why is he going out with her?” 

“Well, according to him, they aren't dating. They never were. He simply agreed to take her to a few events to please his mother.” 

Guy made a rude remark in French about _'apron strings'_ and _'Mama's boys'._

“Apparently,” Genevieve was ignoring him, “she is fairly new to the area. She's a stock broker or works for one and she did a favor for The Gator, so she felt she owed her one or two, I guess.” 

Guy's rant came to an immediately halt. “Wot did you say?” 

Genevieve repeated herself. She then added the bit where Lamar told her his mother would be most pleased if Genevieve simply left the state or country or off the face of the earth.

Guy's mood immediately brightened. “Is there anything else you would like to discuss?” 

“Yes, as a matter of fact.” She reached into the chair next to her and plopped the prenup folder next to her plate. “About this D/s contract...”

_**~~~...~~~** _

Summer roared in early and hot. Guy remembered Georgia summers; his memories of Atlanta during the close of the Civil War were still clear.

He could still smell the grit in the air, the metallic smell of blood. 

He could still hear the screams. He decided he had seen enough war and bloodshed.

Upon Archer's return – many weeks past the time period he originally intended to return - Guy turned Fifty Shades of Red when he discovered that his brother had left the external discs with the information gleaned from Ficklebutte's computer in the family safety deposit box in a bank vault in New York City – a box that Guy had the key to. All this time, he could have been going through the mess, the pile, the information. To inflame things further, Archer had backed the information up on a secured laptop with no internet access, and then had used his contacts and company abilities to follow through on the emails he went through and remotely accessed into no less than seven other emails and hard drives!

The information he handed over to Guy was invaluable. Question now was, how to frighten the bowels out of Ficklebutte to tell them what they now knew? 

And if he didn't, how would they take revenge on those now implicated? Archer was all for that. 

And truth be told, so was Guy. 

_Civilized. We must remain civilized men in this time period. This is not 12th century England!_

_Or 14th century England, come to think of it._  
  
The house was bought, most renovations and updates complete. Work kept both busy, weekends were spent painting and planning. More than one Sunday was spent, sitting in the floor of the empty house, making decisions on use of rooms, colors, furniture. Truth be told, Guy only cared that the bed in their bedroom was big enough and comfortable and his office – his Cave – was functional. The rest of the house was Her domain and whatever she wanted, was fine with him. So long as she was home and with him. And as long as the sheets on their bed did not have flowers or were pink or had ballerinas imprinted on them!

And Maleficent needed to stay out of both! Sadly, she thought she was the queen of this castle. He had news for her. She had full run of Genevieve's office, she did not have full run of his home; specifically, his cave and the master suite, and the sooner she figured it out, the better. 

Sadly, the cat did not listen, or obey, which was why he preferred dogs. 

But some nights, Genevieve was exhausted and simply cried out her frustration. And on those nights, she discovered just how sheltering and protective Guy was. And that being a Dom's beloved submissive was a good thing. The prenuptial agreement had been signed and notarized. 

The Dominant/submissive contract had been a different story. Several nights out at The Club had been necessary. Actually, they hadn't really been necessary, Genevieve referred to it as 'research'...

July was hot and even the trip into Kentucky didn't help with the temperatures much. Three weeks before the wedding, Genevieve had a major meltdown; between planning two weddings, his mother and her grandmother arriving yet again for fittings and final preparations, her business, Bradley acting strangely, Marquis acting like a drama queen, Emily's daughter having surgery and then relapsing, vacations, dead-lines, clients having changes of heart about layouts and budget, remodeling of the house not complete and stalled and her scheduled to move into it the following week. Genevieve was jumping from hoop to hoop to hoop. Guy arrived on Friday, a month before the wedding, to find her sprawled across her bed, crying over all of it, plus the fact she had forgotten to pick up a specific ingredient for dinner and she was too angry and exhausted to run back down to the market to pick it up! What ensued was Aftercare before the sex, Guy calling Val to check on Bradley and ordering her – if one orders an angel – to read Genevieve's employees the riot act, before ordering Chinese takeout. He then decided to hell with the wedding and the renewal of vows, the two of them would just go downtown and elope! However, when he made this proclamation, Genevieve, if anything, became more despondent and upset.

So Genevieve had her little white wedding in her little clapboard church surrounded by her grandmother, her family and friends and Guy's family. Guy, used to the more formal services of England's various churches and the pomp and circumstance, found the relaxed atmosphere to be unsettling, but rather freeing. One would think that the many times he had married in the past, he should be used to this. 

Much like the sight of her the first time she came down the aisle at Ripley's, he was equally stunned this time.

“Well, go ahead and look at her! Everyone else has seen her!” Genevieve's pastor was up front, Guy staring hard at the baptismal behind the pastor when Genevieve approached the altar. He was making sure he was the last to see her. “She's beautiful! This is the first day of your lives! Genevieve Faith! Take a good look at your groom! You will wake up next to him for the rest of your life! Are you prepared for that?” 

Her smile was genuine. “Yeah. I think I am.” 

There was talk of a woman created from a man's rib, the one over the heart, to be held close and cherished. 

He promised to-  
 __  
Je vais adorer votre corps avec le mien et vous protéger contre tous ceux qui voudraient lui nuire.

“Genevieve!” Pastor Collings was in his thirties and popular with the younger congregation. He was moving to rotund and truly believed in making a joyful noise. “Do you know what your groom just promised?” 

She was nodding with a smile. “Aye, I do. Et je vais vous adorer avec le mien.”

However, she balked at obey. 

Guy let her balk, smiled at it even, because he had her signature on a D/s contract that stated clearly that, yes, she would obey. 

_And yes, she would!_

She wore Guy's crucifix on a long, silver chain and her original wedding band on her right hand. She decided she liked her new wedding band as much as her original. True to his promise to his mother, it had diamonds, rather than rubies.

  
[](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/ZeeDippyVessel/media/Fic%20Artwork/000newweddingband_zps64f1b0e7.jpg.html)

Guy was of the mind that his wife had more wedding bands and betrothal rings than a mere woman should own. But Genevieve was not a mere woman.

The reception was everything Genevieve dreamed of and everything Guy was terrified of, although in the end, he decided of all of his weddings and receptions, this one was the most enjoyable. 

It was in the barn. Genevieve's grandmother's barn. One of the barns. The one she didn't use except to store hay in. Of course, the hay had been cleared out and it was clean. The doors were open, the scent of Sweet Timothy lingering in the air. Several local musicians were playing music the FitzGisbornes had never heard and Archer was overheard telling one of the Smithton Brothers that he would like to try his hand at cow-tipping. 

Their not so prim and proper mother was having the time of her life. Her marriage to Silas Raschburg had lasted a little over two months, before he succumbed to pancreatic cancer. As the two had planned, Silas's main house in New York had been left to his nephew, along with a generous yearly stipend, but all the valuables, antiques, art, was in the house purchased in Jacksonville and that, along with his stock in his firm, was left firmly in the hands of Eastbrook Financiers' CEO. The will was tight, iron-clad. Even though he didn't write it, Guy made sure of it.

The nephew had not been heard from. 

Genevieve and Guy watched as Elyana and Grace went through partner after partner, dancing from one end of the barn to the other. Even Val was seen dancing with Grace's neighbor, John, and his two sons. At one point, Guy left Genevieve's side for a moment, to refill her wine glass. It was a rare vintage, one he said he had kept and hidden for a long time just for this occasion. As Genevieve watched through the crowded barn, she glimpsed a tiny, elderly woman with blue hair, dancing with John's youngest.

Anael caught Genevieve's eye, smiling broadly, before spinning the child into the crowd, Genevieve losing sight of both. She moved to follow her, headed into the thick of it, but Guy caught her arm. 

“Going somewhere?” He held out her wine glass. 

“I saw an angel. I want to speak to her.” 

Guy smiled. “Oh? Val is here-”

“NO! Short, little old lady with blue hair.” 

Guy's smile faltered. _Anael. Douma spoke of her several times over the centuries. This was one he had not met-_

Taking her hand, he led her into the crowd of dancer, revelers, searching. As the crowd realized the bride and groom had joined them, a call went up, demanding yet another dance. Both Guy and Genevieve's glasses disappeared and the two ended up making do in attempt to placate the guests. By the time it was over, John's youngest was sitting atop a stack of hay bales and he didn't know where the little old lady went. 

Really.

_**~~~...~~~** _

“Guy, where are we going?”

“You will see.” 

“Guy. You said that when we flew into Atlanta and when we flew to San Francisco.”

“You will see.” 

“You said that when we flew into Hawaii. And now you want me to get in that itty bitty plane and do it again.” 

“You are taking the fun out of it, my lady.” 

“Guuuuuuuuuuuuuuy.” 

He tsked. “South Pacific.” 

“Oh?” 

“Get on the plane.” 

Silence. 

Flying.

Water. So much water. Water water water...

“Guy?”

“Private island.” 

“How private?” 

“Not even a private island. More of a well-stocked bungalow on stilts with a veranda and a swimming dock. No neighbors. A boat will take us to it and retrieve us in a week. No wifi, no television, no radio, solar power. ” 

“Guy,” her voice was an awed whisper. “You hate the water.” 

“You love the water. To be truthful, you hate skiing, and in November, after we renew our vows on the grounds of Ripley's, I will take you to the French Alps to ski. I will teach you how on the bunny run. Turn in turn is fair play. Look out the window, m'lady. You will see our destination.”

[](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/ZeeDippyVessel/media/Fic%20Artwork/LeTahaaIsalndResort_zps20c84759.png.html)  


_**~~~...~~~** _

Genevieve moved into their new home two weeks before the wedding, Guy officially moving in upon their return from the South Pacific. Her furniture, with the exception of the personal items, stayed in her condo, while the furniture Guy had was either sent to the Salvation Army or put in the basement – the man-cave - of their new home, when his lease was up on September 1st. Nothing he had was expensive or really worth keeping, as he considered the apartment temporary. Everything in the house was new, things they chose together.

Their lives fell into a comfortable routine, one established before their current marriage. Genevieve's company was growing; more projects and requests to consider projects finding her desk, until she was booked solid for two years, or until she hired another team. It was something she and Val decided to discuss before the new year, after her vow renewals in England in November and before Christmas. 

Between court cases and client meetings, Guy quietly shifted through the information his brother put on the laptop and backed up on the external, kept now in a bank vault in Atlanta. A can of worms, most definitely, and yes, Genevieve had stepped on toes, stepped on toes just being herself. One lead led to another question, another can of worms, more stipulation. More questions.

More players in this Game of Farce. 

A few times they went to the little private BDSM club Guy belonged to. She was learning that Guy was not a harsh Master and for most things, not desiring to use her for display. She did find the outfits he chose for her to wear at these outings to be skimpier and skimpier and she learned to not stare and to not jump up in her own defense when someone made an inappropriate remark or play for her. While the vast majority of Dom's followed a strict code and were respectful of the submissives, on occasion, one found control freaks parading around as a dominant. The one dom-wannabe was dragged outside and left with a black eye after an altercation and her bottom stung for an hour for behaving the brat and attempting what Guy called 'topping from the bottom'. 

Both blamed the publication of a certain book that was poorly written and the author knew nothing of what she was writing about.

She admitted she had a growing interest in rope-play. She did know that Guy correctly guessed she was interested because she was enamored and jealous of the beautiful rope patterns still left on a submissive's body after the ropes were removed. The marks didn't last long, but... 

“You realize you must be naked in order for there to be any impression, correct?” 

“We do this at home? With the curtains drawn? In the man-cave?” 

“Perhaps I would like to show you off.” 

Genevieve looked at the back of her leather dress with no back, simply cross ties. “Perhaps enough of my butt is hanging out enough for the populace here already.” 

“It is my butt.” His hand curved over her rear-end. “It belongs to me. It is mine to display as I see fit.” 

“Perhaps,” she purred, “I should get a collar and leash for your cock and lead you around by it, since it belongs to me.” She curled into his embrace. “I read that contract, as well!” Even in the low light, Genevieve saw that smirk before he kissed her.

They visited the High Museum, several times. Finally, Guy was able to show Genevieve the mummies he was so fascinated with. She didn't understand the appeal, but was intrigued by his enthrallment with them. He assured her several times, his body looked much better! 

That night, when they were naked on the bed, she agreed with him. 

November was upon them, warm weather suddenly shot with frigid temperatures. The meteorologists were predicting one of the coldest winters in Atlanta's history. Guy immediately called the heating and air company, making sure yet again that the furnace in the home Genevieve was referring to as The Rose Cottage was in working order. A cord of wood was purchased, piled neatly in the back. Yet again, Guy and Genevieve packed for travel, prepared for yet another wedding; truthfully a renewal of vows, the memory of a wedding that he and Genevieve remembered vividly. There was a chapel in Locksley, but a small sanctuary had been built on the grounds on the ruins of Ripley's and that was where this ceremony would take place. For Guy's English friends and family, it was a marriage celebration for them, but truthfully, it was a private display, a reminder of vows made many centuries ago.

Genevieve's cantankerous grandmother took the plane with them, grumbling and fussing in Grace-like fashion until Genevieve slipped her a tranquilizer that put the woman to sleep during the Trans-Atlantic flight. The woman hated flying, refused to, until discovering taking the boat would be a rather long trip. It still was a fight from point A to point B and despite the soft spot he had for the woman, Guy was glad Genevieve dealt with Grace and not him.

Thankfully, Grace and Elyana got along well and spent many a morning traipsing the lawn and gardens in over-sized coats and rubber boots... mud stompers and wellies. 

Gen and Guy let the two enjoy themselves. They had come for a purpose.

_**~~~...~~~** _

“You are wandering about the house late.” If Guy was shocked by the voice in the dark, he didn't show it.

“As are you, Archer.” 

The clock chimed 2 AM, the only light in the room, the blaze in the fireplace. Archer settled into the chair on the other side of the small table and reached for the unused glass. “Are you sharing this fine scotch?” 

Guy shrugged.

Archer took that as a 'yes' and poured himself several generous fingers of the liquid. If his brother was drinking scotch, he knew the man was churning on something. But he also knew his brother well enough that he would say nothing unless prodded and goaded. 

“Not in bed with that fine wife of yours?” 

“She is resting.” 

“So should you.” 

Guy snarled and put down his empty glass with a solid thud, open end up. 

“Perhaps if you talked about it?” Archer refilled the glass and pushed it towards his brother. 

“I know the players,” Guy murmured. “I know the game, the rules, the ins and outs and why. I know who built this mousetrap.” He lifted the glass and took a swallow. “I know who set it in motion.”

Archer had poured his own. “I take it Ficklebutte was not the big player.”

Guy shook his head. “No. And unless he talks, I will have to use other means to punish those who are hiding in the shadows.” 

“You mean we will use other means.” Archer peered at his brother in the firelight. “We're in this together. I won't let you walk it alone.” 

Guy drained the tumbler and turned it upside down on the table, signaling he did not wish a refill. “I received an email from Spiegal today. Al has decided to plea bargain. His attorney has convinced him jail is certain. He'll name the leak, but that's all and he keeps Genevieve's stock.”

“You'll have the name of the leak.” 

Guy was staring into the popping fireplace, sparks flying in a fantastic dance. “I don't think the leak is the source either. As for Genevieve's stock...there is no way in all of Hood's hell I will allow him to keep a single percent.”

“So what did you tell the D.A.?” 

Guy rose from his chair, going to the back. His fingers drummed on the upholstery. “I told him to shake him down.” The tall knight smacked the chair. “Good night, Archer.” 

“Guy?” Archer was filling his glass again. “Are you going to tell Gen?” 

Guy stopped in the outer reaches of the shadows, almost lost in the dark. “No. Not yet. She has enough stress on her shoulders.” 

“I imagine Ficklebutte's cohorts are sweating like pigs right about now.”

“I imagine they are as well. It would be easier for all involved if he would simply spill his guts to stay out of jail. I will tell her when the time is right. After all, this is her party.” With that, the man left the room, leaving his younger brother bathed in firelight and scotch. He waited until the sounds of the footfalls died. 

He smirked. 

“Eh. You want nothing to interfere with your next ten days of skiing, superstition, and sex.”

_**~~~...~~~** _

They renewed their vows on the ancient grounds of Ripley's Convent, in a centuries old chapel built near to the original ruins. As with the wedding in Kentucky, family was present, along with notables and friends of Guy's family, however this ceremony was more somber and formal. A large reception was held on the family estate. She wore red, similar to that of what she wore eight centuries before and carried late fall roses, picked from the greenhouse on the grounds.

They spent two uninterrupted days and nights at the old Gisborne residence, one of the many homes Guy gifted her in their prenuptial agreement. As they drove up to the historical residence, he informed her that it was laid out to the best of his memory of his original hall as a boy and the place had much sentimental value to him. He had built this particular lodging for the one mistress he had in his past, Vivienne, and otherwise, used it mostly as a hunting lodge.

Inside, she found the table from Locksley. And the bed. As well as an old, old book, kept under glass in the corner of the bedroom, opened to a specific page.

“Guy?” Genevieve was leaned over the glass. “Is that-”

“That is the ledger from Ripley's, which includes the record of a rather quiet marriage...” his finger dragged down the glass. “Right there.” 

_Gui de Gisborne, knight m. Genevieve Faith Robinson, spinster. --- November, Year of our Lord 1196_

She squinted at the bound parchment. “The date is smudged.”

“I know and I am sorry I do not remember the exact day. The calendars were different back then. But I do know it was in November and we married on a Friday.”

“Guy, you said no one remembered me, it was if I was never there.” She tapped the glass. “This book states quite clearly I was there-”

“Eleanor remembered you. Cherished your memory and spoke of it to no one, until a week before she died. And that one person she spoke of you to was Roland FitzGisborne. She was a bright young woman and died wiser than most. Over the years, I have found hints, shadows, of you. When I was the Abbess of Ripley's, before Henry, in his madness and greed, dismantled and robbed every monastery and abbey in England, l found this, found proof of my own madness and I hid it from the light of day for five centuries.”

“How did you do that, Guy?” 

The man smiled, a sly, evil thing. This was a secret he safeguarded for centuries, unable to tell anyone, lest they think he was insane. “After my death at Nottingham, the convent was obligated, thanks in part to a large bequest and obligation I left them, and buried me in their crypts. As I was the Keeper of the Crypt, I put this,” he tapped the glass, “along with other things down with my body. When I was allowed, some generations later to purchase the ruins and the property for a rather inflated price, I was then able to retrieve them.” He drew her from the pedestal. “It is good to know those who know what lies in the future. And it is good to know monarchs love money and will sell their own daughters for it. Now come. I have a question for you.”

“What would that question be, Guy. I've become your wife now three times. Once, eight centuries ago, and then this summer and today.”

“You have become my wife once. The vows spoken in July and today were renewals, in my opinion.” In the firelight, his face was utterly serious. “Accept my collar. You know I am a lenient and generous Master. Be mine.” 

And that evening, the two shared a beautiful, private collaring ceremony, in which Guy gifted her with a narrow golden chain of rubies and diamonds encircling Genevieve's neck.

As promised, they spent a week in France, where Guy roared down the slopes at breakneck speeds and Genevieve refused to dare the bunny run. She was finally back in heels and she didn't trust her hip or leg. So she sat in their chateau, drinking hot chocolate and praying there were no trees on the slopes. 

When they turned on their phones upon arriving back at Atlanta Hartsfield Airport, both were buzzing madly. 

Friends for Genevieve. 

The D. A. for Guy.

_**~~~...~~~** _

_**His lips are like...** _

_**~~~...~~~** _

__

_**__** _

tbc

Je vais adorer votre corps avec le mien et vous protéger contre tous ceux qui voudraient lui nuire. - I shall worship your body with mine and I will protect you from all enemies.  
 __  
Aye. Et je vais vous adorer avec le mien - Aye. And I shall do the same.

The honeymoon bungalow pictures are taken from Le Tahah Island Resort in Bora Bora.


	43. 42 - If ought but death part thee and me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Epilogue will go up on the 30th. I want to thank everyone for taking this wild, crazy journey with me.

_**Manna from Heaven** _

_**Chapter 42** _

_**If ought but death part thee and me.** _

“You know FitzGisborne, I don't even have to let you in here for this. We can just simply come to an agreement with him and be done.”

“You respect our friendship too much, Thomas.” 

“Not to mention you would set your evil henchmen on me and I would rather not deal with that.” Thomas Spiegal opened the door to the conference room where Al Ficklebutte and his attorney, Timothy Robencourt, sat at one end of the table.

“What's he doing here?” Al was not happy in the least.

“Miss Robinson's-”

“Lady FitzGisborne. My client. ”

“-has no right.”

“I have every right.” 

Thomas glared at his friend before sitting down. “I have invited him,” he began tersely, “because his client could have been permanently damaged, both professionally and personally, had your client been able to go through with this.” He threw a large folder on the table between the four. 

Al sat back, smug in his posture. “I have agreed to give up the name of the person who informed me that Genevieve's-”

“Lady FitzGisborne.”

“-stock was going public. What else do you want?” 

“Genevieve's stock.” 

Al looked at his attorney. Guy examined the man as well. He could see none of Genevieve's former lover in the man; he was portly, thinning hair, with a bad comb-over. “I don't think-”

“I paid for that stock. I paid market value for it,” Al blurted. “You've made sure I'm no longer in business and your mother took over the business I was in, making the stock I have in it pretty worthless. Oh, don't interrupt. I know what Elyana did! Made sure she's in control of all of it and she played Silas straight into her palms-”

“Al.” Timothy Robencourt leaned forward and tapped his client's hand. “Now is not the time.” He ignored Guy and focused on Spiegal. “My client is willing to give you the name of the person who informed him Ms. Robinson...”

Guy growled.

“...my apologies, Mrs. FitzGisborne,” Guy growled some more, but Al's attorney ignored him, “released stock and that it would be quietly public for a short, specified time. We feel this should be sufficient evidence for a plea bargain to keep my client out of jail and charges dismissed.” 

Guy was shaking his head. 

Spiegal leaned back in his chair, the pivots squeaking painfully. “Timothy, one name isn't going to do the trick. Someone told your leak to leak and we want it all or no deal.” He turned to Guy. “FitzGisborne, shall we take this outside, while Mr. Robencourt explains things to his client?” Both men stood up. “Rap on the door when you're ready to talk.” Guy grabbed his briefcase and followed his friend out into the hallway. He looked up and down, making sure they were alone and no one would over-hear. “Spill.” 

Guy shrugged. “I want my wife's stock returned to her and I really do not care to take the time to go through legal channels to get it for her. I don't care if you make him shite his trousers or shake down his nanny-goat attorney.” 

Spiegal was looking at him, clearly unhappy. “You already who his source is, don't you?” 

Guy shrugged.

“FitzGisborne!” He leaned in, hissing. “Do not make me look the idiot! I'm on the same page with you! I want to see that pip-squeak brought down as much as you! My wife claims that your wife laid Blanche Ficklebutte out in the women's restroom at the High back in February-”

“Did she?” Guy's surprise didn't show. “I had not heard. I will have to ask her about it.” He cocked his head to one side. “Genevieve physically assaulted the woman?” 

“NO!” Spiegal was shaking his head, keeping an eye through the window. Robencourt and Ficklebutte were having a very heated discussion, Robencourt stabbing a pudgy finger towards Guy. “Verbally assaulted her, although I understand that Blanche was gunning for her and started it.” 

“I will have to have a chat with Genevieve. She neglected to tell me of this.” Guy was already dreaming up punishment, when he remembered he had given her permission to have two altercations, although the things she said to Lamar Robencourt and his arm-ornament could also count. _Decisions, decisions._  
  
“Regardless, we need to be on the same page! You know I would say nothing, but you have your fingers in more pies, not to mention your brother's proclivity for procuring information and securing information-”

Guy was grinning madly. He turned his back to the verbal altercation going on in the room and crossed his arms. “I want Ficklebutte to tell you everything to make it easier for you to call in your dogs to pull everything you need. Your boy that likes to play connect the dots would be a most happy camper if you had all the information and I want Genevieve's stock returned to her.” 

“So, you know?” 

“Oh, yes.” Guy was quite firm in his affirmation. “I know who gave him the information. I know who the stock broker was, who gave them the information and why. There are at least five players in this. At least, including Ficklebutte. But I don't want word to get out that Ficklebutte is getting off the hook and I don't want him to contact any of them until my wife has been informed.” Guy was focusing on a crack in the wall above him. “She was targeted for a specific purpose.”

“She stepped on someone's toes.”

“Yes, she did. But it went further than that. Stepping on toes was one thing, but she then set her sights on a star someone did not think she had the right to reach for, much less dream about. And what I know about them, they think is well buried and forgotten about.” Guy inspected his fingertips. “In fact, I would not be surprised if that little tidbit was known at all to the players. Most likely, it went to the grave with the players.” 

_But I know how to dig secrets from a grave._  
  
“How long do you want me to keep Ficklebutte on tether hooks?” 

Robencourt was tapping on the glass. 

“If Ficklebutte wants to spill it all?” They ignored the man. “Today is Wednesday. The ASO is having an after-concert party for their Diamond members. Of course, Genevieve and I are invited, as are the players in this ugly farce on Saturday. I want Genevieve to know, so she can deal with the situation properly and personally.” 

“There is only one way to keep him quiet, in that case. We hold off on negotiating with him until Friday.”

Robencourt tapped the glass again. Spiegal raised a finger, signaling him to wait. “Quick. Give me the names, or signal me if he confirms your suspicions, because you know that man in there will sell anyone out to keep from going to jail. I think he's having nightmares of being sent to a maximum security prison and becoming someone's bitch.” 

This made Guy laugh. Quickly, he rattled off names, most of them surprising his friend. Spiegal hollered down the hallway, getting Peyton's attention and ordered him on a 'Whose Got The Button' fact finding mission. Giving the information to Thomas's assistant, they returned to the briefing room. 

Al was sweating. 

But so was Robencourt. 

Guy put his briefcase on the table, opening it up.

“My client is willing to give you the name of his informant, and everyone that he knows is involved. He is requesting to be allowed to keep his share of the stock in Robinson Architects for retirement purposes. As stated, the stock is expected to grow and as you have effectively cut him off-”

Without looking up, the knight pulled a folder from his briefcase, along with a small cassette tape. “Mr. Ficklebutte can make any deal he wishes in regards to naming his informant and all those he thinks is involved with the District Attorney. That is not up to me, nor my responsibility to negotiate.” He pulled a single sheet of paper from the folder. “In addition, in regards to the stock, what stock he owns in his previous employer's company, is also of no concern to me, however he will hand over the stock he illegally purchased in Lady Eastbrook's-” he saw both Robencourt and Ficklebutte furrow their brows trying to figure out who Lady Eastbrook was, “Genevieve's company to her.” He handed the sheet to Timothy Robencourt. “This is a copy of the email that was sent to my mother and I suspect several other stockholders not in my client's employee. As you can see, he clearly states my client mismanaged her company and that it was on the verge of collapse. That is slander. Not only that, Al Ficklebutte threatened to destroy my client's reputation unless she acquiesced to his demands to walk away from her company and never return to her chosen field anywhere in the northern hemisphere.” 

He pushed a short stack of papers towards the attorney. “You will see a copy of the original contract in all of its repugnant glory. I have high-lighted the more... pertinent, vile details.” He popped out the cassette in the tape recorder. “In addition, he threatened her during our meeting. I have made a copy for your listening pleasure and I can prove it has not be doctored, as every one of my client's employees were listening via the intercom and will attest to this as well. I will not bring up the more outrageous and obnoxious innuendos your client suggested, regarding on how she could possibly support herself.” With this, Guy closed his briefcase with a slam and stood up. “In addition, Mr. Ficklebutte promised to reimburse his supporters for the purchase of stock, however he chose to steal that same stock from Genevieve's employees, without any compensation, as well as hers. I am sure a judge will find that to be a form of illegal favoritism.” He let that sink in for a moment before continuing. “Whatever you discuss with Mr. Spiegal is between the three of you. However, if you decide to hang onto the stock that does not belong to you, I will haul your skinny arse back into court for slander and whatever other charge I can come up with and I will make sure you not only are forced to give it back, but that you pay for the pain and suffering caused my client, as well as her employees, in addition to various and sundry monetary damages, including my fees, which, trust me, are considered hefty. You will not have enough left for a retirement, much less your lovely mistress, who I believe is housed in a very nice and expensive condo on Peachtree Battle.” With one foot, he kicked the chair back under the table. “Of course, all I want is Genevieve's stock and all that other nastiness,” he motioned to the mess in front of Timothy Robencourt, “will be completely forgotten. I'll give you until Friday evening to think about it.” 

Spiegal sat calmly until the door clicked behind Guy. He picked up a pencil and began to tap it end, sliding through his fingers before turning it and repeating the process from the eraser. “You have a lot of talking to do. And I mean, a lot. I want every name, ever relationship, every thought you know of.”

“And then you'll drop the charges? You'll release my funds and my accounts?” 

Spiegal shrugged. “It depends. I will have to think about it, consult with my legal staff. See if your information is valuable enough to deal with you.” 

“Genevieve,” Ficklebutte snarled, “likes to eviscerate her enemies.” 

“Gee, I wonder why?” Spiegal was buoyant. “She seemed to be a fairly nice lady when I met her. I guess I should remain on her good side. Tell me what you know. I will take it under consideration as to what charges the state or the feds are willing to drop or pursue. Of course, if I get word that anyone you might name has been tipped off and information disappears or doesn't add up to what you've told me, all negotiations are off, including the plea bargain, and trust me, that man who just left will go after you with a vengeance you never will escape from.” He now looked at Timothy Robencourt. “Either of you. Have you seen FitzGisborne in action?” 

“My nephew has,” Robencourt whispered. “He was terrified.”

Spiegal nodded once. “As he should be. So should you.” He pulled a legal pad in front of him. “Now Al. I'm sure you have a tale to tell me. I'm all ears.”

_**~~~...~~~** _

Friday, December 5th was wet, the temperatures dropping. During Guy's and Genevieve's winter honeymoon in the French Alps, the entire Eastern Seaboard experienced a cold snap that Genevieve's office was still talking about. But temperatures rebounded quickly, soaring into the '70's the following week, before the rains came. Temperatures were now down to a more normal level.

“They are telling us it is supposed to be one of the coldest winters ever.” Genevieve was dressed in a red lace strapless bra, with matching garters and nude, lace-topped stockings. She sat on the bed, watching her husband dress. “I should hate you! You make getting dressed sexy! It's disgusting.”

[](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/ZeeDippyVessel/media/Fic%20Artwork/tumblr_n8jq10M2fQ1r2u47wo1_500_zps5npa4mzq.gif.html)  


Guy lifted his chin, pulling his tie under his neck and placing it around his collar. “You shall have the pleasure of undressing me, then.” He nodded towards the bed. “Speaking of dressing, you should get dressed. It takes you much longer than it takes me.”

“It does not!” she huffed. She eyed the dress on the bed. “I thought you didn't want to choose my clothing.”

[](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/ZeeDippyVessel/media/Fic%20Artwork/tumblr_n8jq10M2fQ1r2u47wo4_500_zps1jcmx0by.gif.html)  


Guy was now standing in front of the full length mirror, fussing with his tie. “I like you in red. I would think you would be pleased to wear something that would bring me delight.” He slung out a hand, holding the tie firmly in the other. “Before you say it-”

“Neanderthal!”

He returned to his tie. “That is My Lord Neanderthal, to you.” Genevieve had learned in recent months that for all of her reading about and curiosity, there was much she did not know about The Lifestyle and she was now learning fast. 'Sir', in a BDSM atmosphere, was an honorific given to all Dom's, whether he was hers or not. It was similar to 'Mister' in the vanilla, mundane world. _Her_ Dom however was 'Master' and truth be told, it was a title sticking in her craw. For now, she simply was not responding or speaking to any dom at the club the few times they had gone, after that first time, and she referred to Guy as 'My Lord'. 

“You worked hard enough for that title,” she groused, “and besides, you are my Sir and no one else's!” Her voice dropped. “I am no one's slave!” 

Considering her independent streak, which he fell in love with, to be honest, he was willing to allow her desire at this time. “Except when you are naked and writhing beneath me!” He nodded to the dress on the bed. “Wear it for me.” He stepped around her, pulling her hair to the side and proceeded to nuzzle her ear. “It will show off your collar and ruby drops, which I have spent so much money on.”

“It's a bit much.” Genevieve reached out and fingered the full skirt. “Although it is pretty.” 

“I have excellent taste. I admit I have long desired to see you in yards of silk. Shall I help you into it?” 

“We might not ever get to where we're going, if you help me into it! Besides,” this caused Genevieve to chuckle. “I suspect you will help me out of it as well!” 

“Most certainly.” 

The dress was red, a bright holiday ruby, and was strapless. The long-waisted bodice was covered in red rhinestones, and it was full-length, with a full bell skirt that covered what Genevieve referred to as 'a shit-load of netting' and a sweet little train. And Guy was correct; it did set off her choker, earrings, and her wedding and engagement rings.

[](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/ZeeDippyVessel/media/Fic%20Artwork/MoriLee95033RedEveningGown_zpsf3cac18b.jpg.html)  


As soon as he had her zipped up, Guy turned her around and sat her down on the bed.

“I have something else for you.” He turned to his briefcase, which was sitting on the window seat at the foot of the bed. 

“If it's anal beads, forget it!” Genevieve was waving her finger in the air a la Marquis. “It's in our contract. No anal beads in public! Never again.” 

Guy came to stand in front of her with a file. “No. No anal beads.” He handed her the folder, looking very serious. “I have sat on this for some weeks.”

Genevieve gingerly took the folder from him, wide-eyed and fearful. “Do I want to look at this?” She looked up at him. “You have already given the moon. I can't begin to imagine-”

“Yes, you do,” Guy nodded. “As I stated, I have known about this for some weeks, but I waited to show it to you, as the methods I used to obtain the information was illegal and would not hold up in court. Open it.” Looking at her husband, Genevieve did as she was told. “Ficklebutte decided to talk yesterday. He wants to stay out of jail. He confirmed everything, everyone, and every rumor. According to the D.A., he has decided to return all of your stock to you, in lieu of you suing him for slander.” He leaned over and flipped through the pages, pulling out one. “At this moment, the GBI has raided several offices; the warrant includes computer hard drives, files, emails, and phone records. What they do not have, is this.” He fished the last piece of paper from the stack. He waited while Genevieve read through the affidavit. “Ficklebutte and his wife have decided to go on a cruise for a month, on my yacht as my personal guests. They flew to Miami this morning and left before noon. Per my request, they left their phones and computers, so no one can get in touch with them and they cannot contact anyone. The only person with any communication abilities is the ship's captain, who is in my employ. Ficklebutte's attorney, Timothy Robencourt, has also decided to take a long, Christmas holiday. He and his wife left last night for Thailand.” He shrugged. “She has always wanted to visit and I was able to procure them a lovely bungalow with a view.” Genevieve snorted at this. “Robencourt was threatened with disbarment if any of this information came to light before the raid was complete.”

Genevieve was reading still through the document. “When will this raid be complete?” 

“It already is.” Guy sat down next to her. “Law Enforcement went in last night after everyone in the offices left. No one knows, save the agent in charge, as well as Thomas and myself. And you. And quite possibly the cleaning personnel. They will not talk.” Guy did not tell her that Archer had paid the cleaning staff well to take the night off and _his_ staff had cleaned.

Genevieve began to shake, the paper in her hand rattling. “This is... unreal. All of.... this.... just for me?”

“You were not the first one Ficklebutte did this to.”

“But I was the only one, all of this... this...such... vicious jealousy over nothing.” She put it all back in the folder and handed it to her husband. “I know. Now what?” 

Guy took the folder and placed it to his side. “Now what is up to you. If you wish a showdown, or if you want to stand to the side and be a fly on the wall. I was informed arrests would take place tonight sometime after the concert.” 

Genevieve was shaking her head. “Part of me would just like to stay home and read this on the back page of the local section of the AJC. It will be buried. But...” her voice wandered off. 

“But?”

“But,” she stood up and turned around. “I would like to break this news and have my say.” She made a moue. “Am I allowed to let them know I know or what I think or must I stand like a wallflower and watch it from the sidelines?” 

Guy stood up. “I suspect your language might possibly become rather crass.” 

Genevieve sighed. She bent over the bed. “More than likely.” She waited for her skirts to fly over her head. “I suspect I'll be more than a little sore.” 

Rather than raise her skirts, Guy pulled her into his arms. “I think you have a right to be furious and if you wish to deal with these people, you may. The raids are complete. I can tell you who the GBI is going to target and who they might ignore. Given the information in the folder and I've watched you toy with your food before, I suspect you will enjoy this and I intend to let you.” He took her mink stole from the bench and wrapped it around her shoulders. “All I ask is you keep your voice down and try your best to watch your language. Truthfully, an angered Southern belle is a beautiful thing to behold, as long as you are not on the receiving end of her ire. Are you ready?” 

“Oh, I think so.”

_**  
~~~...~~~** _

Genevieve had been a patron of the arts for some years. While she complained to the man before the marriage that she rarely attended the theater or toured the museum, something she made sure she did not miss was the Christmas performance the Atlanta Symphony put on.

And she always found a sing-a-long Messiah to go to somewhere in town. She didn't sing, but she loved to listen. 

So it was with some amusement that he watched her as she listened and was as affected by something that so very much touched her. 

Guy was quite certain that she was not thinking of what might happen after the concert. 

The after party was typically not a long affair; hor d'oeuvre's and wine, were typically served. This particular evening, the gala, while well attended, was not the most over-populated. 

Cecily was there. For some odd reason, she considered Genevieve one of her greatest friends, much to the amusement of Guy.

“Genevieve! Darling!” She grabbed Genevieve by both hands. “How was England and how was France? Did you have a good time? Of course you did, it was your second honeymoon! I just love your fur! Is that real mink? You've given Stephanie Rachels, you know Stephanie, right? absolute fits because she's convinced it's real and she'd rather see people freeze to death! Guess who is here holding up the other pillar in the room?” 

Genevieve didn't have to look. She could feel the heat on her back caused by the spiteful stares. She smiled serenely. “Tell Stephanie it is real, it was given to me by Guy's mother, it's been in the family for at least two or three generations and-”

“Those sweet little minks would be long dead anyway, so they will not be needing their fur,” Guy finished for her. This caused Cecily to break out in horse-ish laughter. “I am going to find us some sparkling water, my lady.” He bent over her hand. “Remember. If you decide to engage, voice down.” With that, he turned and made his way to the bar. 

“Engage? Genevieve, what did he mean?” 

Genevieve's mind made up, she looked over her shoulder. Yep. The Gator and Botox-Bambi were giving Genevieve the stink-eye. Obviously, they were in for a shock. “Tell me, Cecily, I've been busy the last few months-”

“You got married,” she grinned and raised two fingers. “Twice.”

“Oh,” Genevieve puffed, “the second was simply a ceremony for my husband's people over the pond.” She was grinning. To be honest, Genevieve rather liked Cecily. Guy saw her as an instrument, a way to find out things and a way to spread information quickly. But to Gen, she saw a woman whose life was well-funded, but empty. She was widowed, a young widow, to be sure. No children, her deceased husband's family up north. To the best of anyone's knowledge, she herself didn't appear to have any family, at least not in the area. This was someone starving for a friend, companionship. For not the first time, she made a mental note to ask her to lunch on a quieter day, only there weren't many quieter days for Genevieve, as of late. Her life had exploded, gotten busy,

Was frantic. Exhausting. Work. More work. Hiring another team. The holidays. Her company Christmas party was next weekend. Bradley was dealing with issues. Emily's daughter was sick. Grandma wanted Gen and Guy to come to Kentucky for Christmas. Archer wanted to come to Atlanta. Elyana wanted Gen and Guy to come back to England. Guy wanted to go to Colorado. Genevieve felt as if she were being pulled in different directions. And this life was just starting. 

She figured she would be back in the floor, in a submissive, yoga position, weeping, before long. 

_When did my life become so out of control? Is this what Guy anticipated when he lived so many centuries? Would he be disappointed that she was so weak?_

_What a disappointment I must be. A lousy wife and a lousier submissive..._

She shook her head. This is exactly what The Gator wanted her to think. That she was unworthy of anyone. Tomorrow, she would curl up in Guy's lap and unload. He gave good advice. They would figure out something together. But right this minute, she had a chapter to permanently close. For not the first time, she thought the best thing to do was just stand back and watch the chips fall...

But as Guy had stated more than once, Genevieve did like to toy with her food, much like cat with a mouse. And this was a long time coming. 

“Cecily, has anyone seen Lamar Robencourt recently?” 

The woman shook her head slowly. “Noooo. No. Not since the High event this past February. You left early with your husband. I don't think Lamar or his mama stayed much longer after that.” She tapped her lip. “Come to think of it, Savannah has been to events alone.” The woman snarled, a rare frown on her face. “I wish she would go back to whatever swamp she came from. Her voice grates on my nerves!”  
 _  
Laaaaaaaah-marrrrrrrrrrrrrah!_

_Oh yes. No wonder Lamar ran!_

So Lamar wasn't here, his mother and Savannah were staring daggers at her, Ficklebutte and his wife were on a cruise, Ficklebutte's mistress was probably having her jewelry appraised, as well as the artwork and furniture in her rented condo.

And hell about to rain down. Question was, did Genevieve want to begin that storm or just sit back and watch it happen. 

Genevieve was a mover and a shaker; not a wallflower. Never had been. Never would be. And unbeknownst to her, that was the very reason why Guy fell in love with her.  
 _  
Not a wallflower._

These people wanted to see her fall, see her fade, see her return to the hills of Kentucky with her tail tucked between her legs. 

Nope. She decided she would start that storm. They started this ugly affair. She would finish it. 

“Cecily? Is Davis Johnson here?”

She looked around. “He was supposed to be here. I saw him at the symphony, I figured he would be...” Her face brightened. “Oh, wait. I saw him leaving with some strange men. Maybe an emergency in the family...”

Genevieve figured she had to move quickly. The storm had begun. “Remember when my husband said to keep my voice down, if I decided to engage?” 

“Yes. Genevieve?” 

“If you see him before I do, tell him, I decided to engage.” With that, she turned on her heel and made her way over to her prey.

“Adelle. Savannah.” 

Adelle snarled, her dislike of Genevieve obvious. Savannah began to fidget. She cleared her throat. “A-Dell? Would y'lahke me t'go git us a drink?” 

“No, she wouldn't. I have a mouthful to say to both of you and I'm going to have it.” Savannah turned to leave anyway, but Genevieve's voice was steel. “Oh, trust me, bitch. You don't want me shouting this across the room.” 

“Your 'mouthful' in February wasn't enough, Genevieve?” 

“Back then, I didn't know what I know now. And to be honest,” she continued, not allowing Adelle or Savannah to get a word in, “considering my mood that night, it was probably a good thing I didn't!” 

Savannah looked at Adelle, fear on her features. “Genevieve, ah don't think Lah-mar would a'preeshate you talkin' to me lahke tha-”

“Lamar doesn't give two shits about you, Savannah.” The woman's mouth shut with a snap. “He squired you a few places as a favor to his mother. You drove him nuts.”

“I don't know where you got that idea.” Adelle was trying appear calm and cool and was doing a good job of it. It was obvious she had no idea what was getting ready to come down. 

“Lamar told me so himself. He visited me in May at my office. He came to apologize for being a complete jerk over my accident and for using me to smack back at you for the three years we dated. You know, if you hadn't have objected so much to our relationship, we wouldn't have lasted three weeks.”

“I have his best interests at heart.” 

“No, you have the need to preserve your blue-blooded pedigree at heart and you need a heart transplant. Preferably, a human one this time.” Genevieve grasped her clutch, the little piece of paper folded tightly within. “He was kind enough to read through my prenup with Guy and gave me some good advice. And now, I'm going to give you some advice.” 

Adelle snorted. “Why would I want advice from the likes of you?” 

Genevieve looked around. “Have you seen Davis Johnson?” 

“Why would I care about Davis Johnson?” A waiter came by and both Adelle and Savannah picked up drinks. Genevieve waved them off.

“Well, since this whole mess is partially his fault.” 

Adelle took a sip of her wine and scrunched her nose. “I am not following you. What does Davis Johnson have to do with anything? And what mess are you talking about” 

“For starters, you and his wife were sorority sisters in college. Agnes Scott College, I believe?” 

_Ah, now she had Adelle's attention._ “What does that have to do with anything?” she repeated.

“Rumor has it, the two of you were really good friends.” Genevieve looked up, wishing she had gotten a glass of wine or water or something. She and Guy were going to start trying for a family next month and she wanted to make sure her body was as healthy as possible. They had decided that as of tonight, her eating and drinking habits would be healthier choices, meaning Guy's eating and drinking habits would be healthier as well. “I imagine a few years ago, when he was passed up for senior architect in his firm yet again, she was snarking pretty loudly at your Tuesday brunches.” 

Savannah was shaking her head. “Senior? Firm? Do I know this Johnson person?” She didn't notice that Adelle's grip on her wine glass had turned white knuckled, her mouth in a thin, grim line. 

“Oh, I'm sorry!” Genevieve was quite jovial. “I forgot. You're new. Davis Johnson is an architect at the firm where I did my college internship and worked at until I left to began my own business.”

“You should have stayed there.” The Gator's grip was getting tenser and strained.

“You know Adelle, you squeeze that glass any tighter, you'll break the stem.” Gen turned her attention back to Savannah. “Either way, not only did I work in the same firm, I was usually placed on Johnson's team. At first, I was intimidated and awed by the man, but I learned that Davis wasn't very thorough, and the truth is, he made so many mistakes that his under staff ran circles to make sure his buildings didn't fall.” She shrugged. “Actually, he was a drunk but he was married to the boss's daughter. We didn't want his or our asses to get dragged to court. People typically fixed his mistakes quietly and when they were able to move up or out, they did. That's what I did.” She saw a member of the wait staff and called him over. “Could you possibly find me a glass of iced water with some lemon? Thank you so much, darling.” As the man went on his way, she turned back to Savannah. “Thing is, people normally fixed his mistakes quietly, so no one knew, but the person who fixed it. Sadly, he made a huge error on a blueprint. Easy enough to fix, but he was 'out of town', drying out, and the contractor was looking at wrong specs. I went down and fixed it. He was very appreciative. And he told people. You know,” she mused, “I still use that contractor for projects. He has a good eye! Anyway!” she continued brightly, “while out to lunch with a few of the other female junior architects and one of the case managers, we realized that women just did not advance there, despite the size of the firm. We were used mainly to support the senior staff, all male, and to quietly keep Davis's nose clean. I was upset because a young architect, fresh out of college, with little internship or experience was promoted over me and Bethelle told me two that she trained were promoted over her and were now her bosses! That's when I decided to strike out on my own.” Gen leaned over and whispered. “I made sure the head honcho knew that the female understaff had gotten tired of cleaning up his son-in-law's drunken errors and then watching as others were promoted around us.” 

The waiter came back with Genevieve's water. As she thanked him and took a sip, Adelle decided to undercut. “No alcohol? Have you decided that you're a hothead when you're drunk?”

“No,” Genevieve answered matter-of-factly. “Guy and I are going to get started on beginning a family next year and we want healthy sperm and healthy eggs. So to continue, two and a half years ago, Michael Usenberg, Davis's father-in-law, passed away. Davis apparently thought he would get the old man's chair and corner office, except the stockholders blocked him and moved someone else into place, leaving him out in the cold. Stockholders have long memories and they knew Davis was pretty unfit.”

“And that has what to do with me, Genevieve?” 

Genevieve was just getting wound up. “It has everything to do with you. As I said, you and Davis's wife go way back. I mean, you're both practically sisters! I can only imagine she gave you an earful for quite a while after it happened. So unfair. Tsk tsk.” 

Gen then wagged a finger at Savannah. “Now, bear with me; this gets a bit confusing. When Ficklebutte decided to take me over, he made several comments to me at that last meeting concerning me personally in regards to the takeover of my company. One being that I would never hold the reins of power again or command the respect in the business I currently held and the second was I would not be allowed to walk in social circles I once enjoyed and I got to thinking, now,” she tapped her lip, “where have I heard that before? And then it hit me! Lamar's Mama!” She started to bounce up and down. “Now, here's where it gets really good! I know The Gator – you know that was my nickname for you, right? The Gator? I think it's fitting; don't you think it's fitting, Savannah? Anyway,” Genevieve was on a roll and her story was now pouring out of her. “anyway, I have an architect that I've never had bad dealings with before, sitting in my office trying to take over my business and he's spouting nonsense that sounds like it should be coming out of my former boyfriend's mother's mouth. And I got to thinking: He purchased stock in my company. Stock that was supposed to be a private sale and somehow, some of it was quietly leaked and Ficklebutte was forewarned and just snatched it up!” 

“Along with your mother-in-law, dearie.”

“True.” This seemed to bring Genevieve down for a moment. “But Elyana has a long and well established history of buying up stock in young companies the minute they go public. And her records show that she purchased just before Ficklebutte did. Are you ready for me to tie this all up in a neat bow, because I sure am! I remember very clearly sitting on your patio by the pool on hot summer day with you and Lamar and he and I were discussing how I could put together a lucrative retirement and benefits package for my employees and he suggested private stock! He even offered to have his broker get in touch with me and help me put a plan and package together! And you know, here I thought you were sitting quietly, drinking your coffee and reading your Harlequin Super Romance novel and not paying attention to us!” Gen took a long draw from her glass before continuing. “If I remember correctly, Lamar and I discussed that about a week or two after Davis discovered he wasn't getting his father-in-law's position and I'm pretty sure the little gerbils who run the wheels in your brain were starting to run a marathon.

“Another thing that made me think was in May, when Lamar told me he couldn't stand your little protegé. He told me he was squiring Savannah about because she was new in town and had done you a favor. Thing is, you're not so new, are you, Savannah? Oh, your parents are well known in Louisiana, but you were looking to make your own way, so when you graduated from college a few years back, you moved to the Big Peach to make your way on your own. Of course, your mama went to Agnes Scott as well and was dorming in the room across the hall from Adelle and Davis's wife, so she made sure you simply went from one stifling bosom to the other! She made sure you got an interview with Lamar's broker and when you got the job, you kept an eye on that release and you made sure it was quietly public for a little while.” 

Savannah was standing tall. “So what ar'ya implyin'?” 

“Besides the fact that your pedigree is better than mine?” Genevieve batted her eyes, “What I'm implying is this – about the time Adelle's Sorority Sister, who was her best friend in college, was whining about her husband not getting his due and blaming the architects who worked under him, which included me, especially since I took a few junior architects and a case manager with me when I started up my own company, Adelle overheard me planning to release private stock for my employees. She and her girlfriend got together with Davis with the information. Davis was drinking buddies with Ficklebutte way back in the day when they were in college and played Dungeons and Dragons together and Ficklebutte owed Davis a huge favor for providing an alibi for him in a pretty nasty hit and run Ficklebutte was involved in college. They had a friend who was a mechanic and for a large sum of money, he did the bodywork and paint job and never told anyone. So Ficklebutte, Davis and Adelle here found someone to keep an eye out for when my stock was being generated and quietly sold it in small, but consistent shares. It sure helped when Davis hired someone to bug my office to figure out when those dates would come up! They then waited until it appeared Al had more controlling shares than I did and struck when my attorney's wife reached the last stages of her cancer.” 

“Y'know what ah think? Ah think all that wild sex yore havin' with that big man y'call a husband has scrambled yore brains, that's what ah think.”

Genevieve didn't skip a beat. “Al Ficklebutte is on a cruise. Did you know that?” Her smile slid from her face. “And Adelle, your brother-in-law? Timothy? Did you know he and his wife went to Thailand for a month's holiday? Left yesterday. Did he tell you about those plans?” Adelle's face remained stoic. “No, I don't think they did. Hope you weren't planning on having Christmas dinner with them. Funny. I find that funny.” 

“I don't know why you would think-”

“In order for Ficklebutte to go on a cruise, his accounts had to be unfrozen.” 

“Obviously, the judge dismissed the case, Genevieve,” Adelle was smug. “You have a fanciful imagination and if you think you're going to intimidate or blackmail me or-”

“He plea-bargained out, Adelle,” Genevieve interrupted. “He spilled his guts on Friday and copped a plea bargain. He named names and dates. The DA has emails and phone records.” 

Savannah gasped. 

“Surely,” Genevieve turned to the woman, “you didn't think he would be willing to cover your skinny ass and go to jail because he's a gentleman and all that rot.” 

“Surely, yore mistaken.” 

“Surely no, I don't think I am.” Genevieve looked up, her husband heading her way with a glass of sparkling water in each hand. She reached out her hand to take the glass when he was within arm's reach. 

“You looked parched.” 

“Talking will do that to a woman.” She handed her empty glass to her husband. “Either way, Ficklebutte gave his statement to the DA, they've taken his disposition, before he left. It was admittedly very quick. Am I leaving anything out, my lord?” 

Guy shrugged. “GBI raided Savannah's office, as well as Davis Johnson's last night and this morning. They have hard drives and records. Emails. So far, what they have confirms Ficklebutte's statements. They have proof Johnson paid to have Genevieve's office bugged and they know who did it for him.” 

Adelle was smirking. “You have nothing on me, you little bitch. I have no social media. I do-”

Two well-muscled, suited men were making their way over to the small group. “You arrived alone, right, Savannah?” Genevieve nodded to the men. “Looks to me like you're in for quite the party tonight!” 

The two flanked the woman, one speaking quietly in her ear and showing her a badge. “Ma'am? Would you come with us? We'd like to ask you a few questions.” 

Savannah's jaw dropped, before she turned and hissed at Adelle. “If you think I'm goin' down alone, you have another think coming. Ya better have a better attorney than your son!” She then turned and was escorted by the two GBI agents towards the escalator. 

“Bye! Buh Bye! BUH-Byeeeeeeeeeeeee!” Genevieve waved. 

“You are having too much fun, my lady.” 

“Where have you been?” Genevieve had one fist on her hip. “You've missed it!” 

“No. I have been watching with Cecily.” He thumbed over his shoulder. Sure enough, about twenty feet away, there stood Cecily, waving idiotically back. “She's going to want a full report. Perhaps lunch on Monday with her?” 

“Sounds like a plan.” Genevieve pulled her clutch from under her arm. 

“Are you through here?” 

“No. One more thing.” Genevieve opened her clutch bag and smiled at Adelle. “You know, when I heard you in the background on the phone, when Lamar broke up with me, calling me all those names; you know, white trailer trash when I've never lived in a trailer in all my life, and then you called me an illegitimate whore, like that was an insult or something... and I wonder how you found out? I was ashamed of it. And then I realized that it wasn't my fault. Why should I be ashamed of something that isn't my fault? Guy? Can you imagine blaming someone for something that isn't their fault?” 

“I can trace my paternal lineage to a 13th century blacksmith who was the illegitimate and only son of a man who was supposedly a knight, whose father was a Crusader.”

Genevieve was all ears. “Ooh! How fascinating!” She turned to Adelle who was starting to pale. “Isn't that fascinating? Guy's ancestor was an illegitimate blacksmith and Guy, his descendent, is an earl and a duke and a baron, among other things!” 

Guy was nodding. “Yes. Seth. His son, Roland, was knighted and was granted land and a title for services to the Crown. I am still in possession of those lands and that title.” He smirked, obviously lost in a long ago memory. “Roland was very good friends with Henry III.”

“Oh! Now that's a story I want to hear. Anyway, Adelle, I got to thinking; you went digging into my closet and dug out skeletons, so I wondered what would happen if I went digging into yours? My, my, my, my, my, do you have a few! But there is one in particular that was the frosting on the cake!” She pulled the piece of paper out of her clutch and shaking it open, handed it over Adelle. “Next time you call someone an illegitimate whore, you might want to make sure you aren't one yourself! I do believe,” Genevieve reached over and pointed to a line on the birth certificate, “that is not your daddy's wife's name. Can you imagine? Lamar told me once that y'all didn't get along with your father's wife. In fact, he was a bit perturbed that when she passed, she left her money to various charities and not a cent to you or him. Now I know why.”

“What is this?” the woman hissed.

“Your birth certificate. Your original birth certificate”

Adelle was floundering for words. “Just... just … no... I was born in Madison, Georgia. Not in Sweden. This isn't me! You can't make me look adopted!”

“You weren't adopted, sweetheart,” Genevieve whispered. “That is your father's name on the birth certificate, along with this very interesting woman – Helena Night - who wasn't your father's wife. I did some more digging. Apparently, she was the mistress for your father for five or six years and... well... for lack of a better word... retired after your birth. Apparently, she came into a large sum of money after you were born and moved to the Pacific coast. California. Married a plantation owner. Grapes. Guy? You know the wine market better than I do. Night Wines?” 

“Night Wines of California. They have a lovely Zinfandel.” His brow furrowed. “It's a relatively affordable wine, geared to lower budgets.” He looked up at a horrified Adelle. “I believe it would probably be in your price range.” 

Genevieve was nodding. “She died a few years back. From what was found, she lived a good life. Married well. Left her supposed only child – a son – very well off.” With this, Genevieve's voice gentled. “You might want to reach out. You have a half-brother out there. Your father's wife didn't have children, so he fathered one off his mistress and then paid her well to fade away. I can't begin to imagine the pain your adoptive mother felt, being forced to raise a child that wasn't hers.” 

Adelle's eyes were riveted to the birth certificate in her hands. “I...I...” she shook her head. “This is a lie. You made it up! You're a lying-” 

“Your mother went to Europe for a year just before you were born. I suspect he put out the story she was not feeling well and her husband, your father, decided to send her to the Continent for a long rest. She came home with you. Strangely enough, Helena went to Europe sometime after she did and returned a bit before your father and his wife returned. In fact, she was packed and had left Georgia by the time your father and his wife returned from Europe. She came into a lot of money just before her return. I wonder how much your daddy paid a clerk over here or possibly there to recreate your birth certificate? With all this information, it's really easy to figure out what happened.” 

Rather than break, Adelle looked up at Genevieve, pure hatred in her eyes. “Bitch,” she hissed. “You bitch! Just what do you think you're going to accomplish?” 

Genevieve stepped forward, facing the opposite direction and appeared to be staring out the long window into the night and whispered over the woman's shoulder. “Might I remind you, you were in on a plan to discredit me, ruin me financially and no doubt you had visions of me in ragged clothes and sneakers, up to my knees in pig shit or whatever manure pile you thought I should be in. Actually, I don't think you were just in on the plan, I think you spear-headed it and you hoped that your son would fall in love, or toe the line and fall in with what you decided he needed with that little botoxed Barbie doll, all because I wasn't good enough for your precious son and didn't have the pedigree you considered that you had. Well, honey, your pedigree is just as Heinz 57 as mine. At least, my mama didn't whore herself out and the woman who raised me, my grandmother, loved me to distraction. I imagine your father was very disappointed you weren't a boy and your mother threatened him every which way to the North Pole if he tried to pawn off another woman's child as hers again. So he was stuck with you. Do you want to hear something funny?” Adelle swallowed and stared straight ahead. “Back in May, when Lamar came to visit me, he apologized for stringing me along for three years. He knew from the git-go that he didn't love me, but he was so tired of being tied to your apron strings and you running his life, he continued to date me just to spite you. He wasted my time and my affection to simply spite you. Just think about it. Had you minded your own business in regards to your son's love life, I would have been a small little foot-note. But you didn't. You meddled and I will dog you for the rest of your days, because that's what you are, despite all of it. You're not even good enough to be a bitch. You're a common dog. Just like the rest of us.” She started to turn from the woman, but had a second thought. “For the record, Ficklebutte never mentioned Lamar and the best I can tell, he was completely innocent in this whole mess. For that, I'm grateful. I hold nothing against him.”

Finally finished, Genevieve turned to her husband. “That was simply exhausting! Will you take me home and undress me, my lord? My feet and bra are killing me!”

The left side of Guy's mouth lifted in a smirk. He extended an arm. “I called my driver a few minutes ago. He should be waiting.” As he led her away, Guy leaned over and whispered, “Very good, m'lady. I do not believe anyone overheard you this time. How on earth will you manage to spread this juicy gossip to the masses?” 

“Very easy. Cecily!” She dragged her husband over to the woman, Genevieve's hand in the classic _'Call me'_ position. “Call my office Monday morning! We'll do lunch! You have my number?” She then mouthed, “I'll tell you all about it!” 

Guy had her stole and slipped it around her shoulders as they exited Recital Hall. There was a cool mist hanging in the hair. He ushered her and her skirts into the limo, as his driver tapped him on the shoulder. “There is champagne chilling, as you requested. Shall I take a long cruise around The Perimeter before we head for home?” 

Guy clapped him on the shoulder. “That would be perfect.” He slid into the seat, behind his wife, as the man closed the door behind him, the limo then moving soundlessly onto Peachtree Street. 

“How do you feel?” Guy poured a glass of champagne and handed it to her. “We are celebrating and a glass or two will not harm you or our future child.”

Genevieve took the glass and studied it. “Sad. I thought I would be ecstatic and feel like a million bucks and just over the moon, and evilly satisfied, but I feel really sad. None of this would have happened had she left Lamar and me alone. He'd have broken up with me and I would have been none worse for wear.” 

Guy was staring at her in the flickering street light. “Had she left you alone, you would not have had your wreck and would not have come to me in my hour of need.” 

“Or you in mine. I know that. This was meant to be. This is how it was meant to happen. It's strange. You were the broken one, but I was the one who needed saving. But I'm still sad. She's a bitter, bitter woman and her life was built on a horrible lie. I feel sorry for her.” She tipped up her glass and drank. Setting the empty glass down in the arm rest across from her, she admitted, “I'll treat Cecily to lunch on Monday and I'll tell her about the whole Ficklebutte mess, but I'm not going to tell her that Adelle's mama was a well-paid whore.” 

“You are too kind, my lady.” 

“No, I'm not!” She punched him on the shoulder. “I'm a vindictive bitch.” She reached and retrieved her empty champagne glass. “You said I could have two. I'm just glad it's over and I'm glad Lamar didn't have anything to do with it. After everything else, that's a betrayal I couldn't have handled.” 

Guy filled her glass. “Truthfully, had he been in on it, I would have dealt with him and not kindly.” 

“I'm afraid to ask.” She nodded. “You can put some more in there!” 

“No, I will not, nor will I tell you how I would have dealt with him.”  
 _  
I would have buried him in the family graveyard with one of my corpses. Alive._

“Just be glad he was not party to that particular affair. Perhaps, when it is over, he will retire the old she-devil to the family estate. Where is it?”

“Madison. The only city in Georgia, Sherman didn't burn.” 

“You know why Sherman did not burn Madison, correct?” Guy finished his glass and proceeded to raise his wife's skirts, much to her amusement. “His mistress lived there and he wanted to make sure she was left unscathed, so he sent his army around the entire town.”

“I had heard that rumor.” Genevieve finished her glass and Guy took it from her, setting it aside. “I figured it was just some silliness.” 

“No, it was no silliness.” Guy's hand returned to Genevieve's thigh. “Men have done some strange things for a woman.” Grabbing her by the hip, he pulled her sideways, throwing her legs over his lap and into his arms. As he lowered his mouth, he took in the heady aroma of her, the satin softness of her skin. For a short time, there was no Adelle, no Savannah, no Atlanta, no world; just them. 

“Guy?” 

“Hmmm?” His mouth was moving across her chin, to her ear lobe. 

“I'm supposed to start my pill pack tomorrow.” 

“We decided to begin our family next month.” His mouth found the lobe, his tongue toying with her earring. “So, another month would be-”

“Let's say to hell with it.” Guy raised his head to look at her, stunned. She had been adamant in waiting until the new year. “Why don't I just throw them into the back of the dresser and we start that family right now?” Guy was still staring at her. “I mean, I'm not getting any younger and you, my lord, are older than Methuselah!” 

The knight's mouth lifted, before he began to chuckle. “My Lady Genevieve, I do believe that is the best idea you have had in quite a while.”

_**~~~...~~~** _

_**like some roses fair** _

_**~~~...~~~** _

_**~~~...~~~** _

_**tbc** _

_**~~~...~~~** _


	44. Epilogue - Love Never Ends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - I am so bad about responding to reviews and I'm sorry. I want to take a moment to thank my betas and my 'spot readers' and everyone who took time out of their day (or night) to read this monstrosity. I am so humbled. 
> 
> For the record, I never envisioned anyone to 'be' Genevieve or anyone really, except the established canon characters. I 'did' envision Helen Mirran as Elyana. 
> 
> I don't think Guy and Gen are done with me. I have plans for two satellite series - The Shepherd (21st century stuff that was pulled due to time and size constraints; side bunnies the Muse wants to explore) and Aside from Heaven, which are bunnies from those 'lost years' of Guy's. 
> 
> Thank you again.

_**Manna from Heaven** _

_**Epilogue** _

_**Love never ends.** _

[](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/ZeeDippyVessel/media/tumblr_n0n0wcjVsC1r13l3bo7_500_zps3105ec25.jpg.html)  


_All of my mistakes._  
 _All of my faults._  
 _All of my flaws._  
 _All of my failures._  
 _All of my past relationships._  
 _All of my struggles._

_All of my successes._   
_All of my accolades._   
_All of my experiences._

_No matter now beautiful._   
_No matter how ugly._   
_All brought me here to you._

_Love me for who I am, not who I used to be._   
_Because i am here now._   
_Because I am exactly where I want to be._   
_Because I wouldn’t change a single thing about my past._   
_Because my past led me to you._

from The Beauty of Words

 

_**4 years later** _

 

Guy woke up in a vaguely familiar bed - 

_Home. I am home in England. The estate..._

and the sound of screaming in the hall. 

With a scowl, he slung himself from the bed, grabbing his jeans from the floor where he had stepped out of them the night before. Careful not to snag anything Genevieve would consider important – or that he would consider important - he stormed across the room and threw the door open.

"Roger!" The thundering footfalls stopped. "Stop annoying your sister!" 

The almost four-year old turned, ice-blue eyes and a scowl Guy recognized from a younger mirror stared back. "She started it!"

"She is female; it is her job." Guy ignored the look of feminine satisfaction from his son's younger sister. He looked up and down the hallway. "Where is your mother?"

"She," Guy's own mother walked serenely down the hall past him and took each child by the hand, both of who suddenly went quiet, "went outside a short time ago. I believe," she nodded at him, with the same, identical eyes as his daughter, "you'll find her behind the chapel, back by the arch by the willow tree."

_Ah. I should have guessed..._

[](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/ZeeDippyVessel/media/ripley_zps6381aec1.jpg.html)

Guy started to take the little hands his mother held, but she shook her head. "We are fine. I think Genevieve needs you a bit more than these two this morning." She turned towards the stairs. "My grandchildren and I are going to have breakfast on the back patio and then we are going to find the honeysuckle hedge and eat them until we puke. Speaking of puking, by the way," she whispered as the two hellions, as Guy called them, pulled at her, "Genevieve was sick this morning. All three mornings now." With that, the woman calmly allowed herself to be dragged down the staircase by small hands. "Do not forget your shirt and shoes before you go out," she called up. "It rained and the grass is damp and you do not need to be sick with her."

Guy stopped for a moment, seeming to ponder the long portrait on the wall in front of him, but not really seeing it. Finally, a self-satisfied smirk graced his features and he returned to his rooms.

_**~~~...~~~** _

Genevieve knelt before the arch, clearing weeds and removing dead leaves. So deep in thought, she heard nothing, not even the bird song. She dragged her finger over the worn lettering, chiseled inside the arch, taking in the size of the granite marker.  
 _  
Il y avait-ils conscients d'un yeoman de Wight,_  
 _Son corps se pencha à un arbre._  
 _Une épée et un poignard qu'il portait à ses côtés,_  
 _Avait beaucoup de fléau d'un homme fait,_

[](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/ZeeDippyVessel/media/couldbeguysgrave_zpseb4cc916.jpg.html)  


It crossed her mind to have it replaced, with something a bit more...oh... something that would suit the man in the grave it marked. Putting his name on it for one thing...

"I am not really there, you know."

If he startled her, she didn't show it. "Someone I loved very much is down there. Even," she wagged a finger to admonish him, "if he's just a skeleton." 

Guy joined her in the dirt. "if you're going to be that way about it, I'm also over there," he pointed towards the chapel, "and I'm over there-" he pointed in another direction, "as well. This one of me," he reached over and took her hands, "was originally buried in the old Ripley Convent catacombs. That particular one," a half-smile quirked, "was very gracious and generous to the nunnery."

This admission caused Genevieve to laugh heartily. "You. Generous. Some might find it hard to fathom."

With this, Guy's peculiar smile dropped, causing Genevieve to become concerned. "My heart, even then, was generous. I simply locked it away. I was convinced it was a weakness." The smile returned. "Thanks to you, I learned that it was not. Up!" He pulled her gently to her feet. "We have other things to talk about."

Genevieve allowed herself to be pulled up and into his embrace. "Did Roger kill Ghislaine?" 

"No, but close. Thank God for Mother's interference." His hand slid down and caressed her belly. "So, when were you going to tell me?" 

Genevieve smirked at him. "Tell you what?" 

The hand snaked around to the curve of her backside, where he smacked it once, causing her to yelp. "Sick three mornings in a row." 

"HA!" Genevieve reached back and slid his hand up to the small of her back. "Just goes to show what you don't know. I've been queasy for a week!" Her fist went to her mouth.

Guy's look darkened. "You knew? We would not-"

"-have made this trip had I said anything. I didn't because I didn't know."

"Genevieve-" Her husband's dark tone now matched his look.

"Ghislaine had that stomach bug before we left, remember? I initially thought I caught something from her." She waited for him to soften, held him closer to her. "I know we hadn't talked about having another, but... are you okay with it?"

Guy's look eased. “I am delighted.” Streaks of silver marked his temples, making him distinguished, quite the 'Silver Fox' in Genevieve's opinion. “I will watch you carefully. You had a difficult time bearing Ghislaine.” Again, he caressed her stomach, concentration etched on his brow. “She will give you a rough time as well.”

“So certain it is a girl?” 

Guy nodded, deep in thought. “Aye. I will decide on a name.” He was now pulling her into his arms. 

“Kinda early for that. I'm not even showing.”

Guy shook his head. “It is never too early to decide on a name. Elyana Aedyth Grace.” 

It took a moment for it to register. “Aedyth. Aedyth and Reginald were Eastbrooks.” Guy nodded in affirmation. “That's why your mother's smile is so familiar.” 

“The FitzGisborne's have married into the Eastbrook family on three occasions. A son, a grandson, and a daughter. Never me. It would be strange.” For not the first time, he opened his mouth to tell her, tell her about him and Aedyth and not for the first time, he snapped it shut. Forgiveness was a fragile thing. Wanting to change the subject, he focused on Genevieve's button-down sweater. “I think,” he began to unbutton it, “we should celebrate this new life, right here.”

“What are you doing? It's cold!” Genevieve was still a southern woman with thin blood. England was cold and damp to her. 

Well, England _was_ cold and damp!

“Guy!” She was buttoning the sweater up behind him.

With the ease of someone who obviously knew her, Guy drew both of her wrists behind her, holding them in a single grip, while his other hand returned to her cardigan, unbuttoning it. “I will keep you warm. I know how.” 

“It's the graveyard, for goodness sake! It's creepy!” 

“All the better.” He sank, taking her with him. “The children will leave us alone.” 

“Guy! We'll get filthy! Your mother will know-”

He leaned her back, laying her out fully on the ground, one breast now bared to the air. “I believe my mother already knows we have marital relations.” 

“GUY!”

Her protests died in a heap of sweetness and laughter on the wind.

_**~~~...~~~** _

Around the corner, shielded by a mausoleum of an antiquated ancestor, three beings sat comfortably on headstones, marking the graves of notable and not-so-notable FitzGisbornes.

“These are decadent.” Val reached into the bag of Cheesy Poofs and passed them to Douma. 

“They leave my fingers orange.” Douma also reached into the bag and passed it Anael. “But they taste so good!” 

“You two are up to something.” The little angel reached into the bag and inspected the snack. “You know, I'm a bit on the sad side for these two.” 

“Why?” Val was aghast. “After all these centuries, he found his way to her. He saved her company, saved her. They adore each other!” 

“They are very happy together.” Douma was licking her fingers. “You are the Angel of Passionate Love.” She smiled, stars and planets zipping across her dark blue eyes, fireworks exploding when Genevieve gave a high-pitched squeal. “They are quite passionate about each other. Why would you be sad?” 

Anael's wings drooped. “He spent 800 years and nine lives to get to her. And they'll only have forty, maybe fifty years together, if nothing unnatural takes them sooner! 'Tis unfair.” 

Douma motioned for the bag and reached in again. “They will have many lives, Anael. From this day, he will always find her. He will always remember her. And she will know him. She will know his heart. Much like Robin and Marian.” 

“They fight.”

“True.”

“Every lifetime. They fight and fight and fight.” 

Val shrugged. “It is their nature. They are both very dominant. There is no softness or forgiveness in Marian.” 

Anael hopped off the grave marker, making sure not to step on the grave. It was old and the earth had sunken in. She looked at the engraving. “Thank you, Elizabeth Northrup FitzGisborne, died 1683, for your hospitality and your stone to sit on.” She turned to her cohorts. “I have a question.” 

Val snatched the bag while Douma was not looking. “One of us might have answers.” 

Anael planted angelic fists on ample hips. “Never have we directly interfered in the lives of any of God's Children, but not only was I allowed to press more than usual, the two of you have ingratiated yourselves into their lives, especially you, Valoel!” 

Val was stuffing Cheesy Poofs into her mouth. “Hmmm mmmm.”

Anael was not to be deterred by Val's nonchalant attitude. “They both know you are an angel. Guy has had one-on-one dealings with you, Douma!” 

“As have you! Give me those!” Douma snatched the bag from Val. “Besides, it was her fault. And she has had one-on-one dealings with both. But mostly Guy. It is her fault,” the Angel of Death reiterated. 

Val was engrossed in her handful of fake cheese-flavored snacks. “All my fault. Completely my fault.” 

It was silent, except for the crunching of snack food, the occasional squeal from Genevieve and rude, crass, sexually explicit comment from her husband.

_Oh, you like it deep, hmmm? You like it rough!_

“Well?” 

“Well, what?” 

Anael threw her fists above her head. “How is all this your fault?” 

Douma had her hand deep in the bag. “She majorly screwed up her Guardian Angel duties.” 

“Must you remind me?” Val grabbed the bag. “Give me that. Pig.” 

“Speak for yourself! If it wasn't for Angelic metabolism, you would be a porker!”

“PLEASE!” Anael was bouncing about like a small child in need of a potty.

Val sighed. “I was the Guardian Angel of Sir Roger Gisborne, Guy's father in the 12th century. He went on Crusade, initially, when Guy was quite young. In fact, Isabella was born after he left. He distinguished himself and received land from the King to go with his knighthood, something very much desired. He came home, moved his family to the land he had been rewarded and then when Guy was in his tenth year, he returned to the Holy Land, leaving the family pretty much to fend for themselves. He asked Lord Malcolm of Locksley to watch over them, while he was on his pilgrimage, but Guy took his Man of the Household responsibilities seriously. Very seriously. His distrust of Lord Malcolm was well known and his dislike of Lord Malcolm's son, Robin, was legend.

[](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/ZeeDippyVessel/media/Fic%20Artwork/afterfloddenby_zps1139f638.jpg.html)  


“While in the Holy Land, Sir Roger contracted leprosy. He chose to send word that he had died in battle, rather than go home and have his wife and family be forced to put him out and live with the stigma of his illness, much less watch him slowly die. They were provided for, Ghislaine, his wife, was an intelligent woman and he let it be known that his wish was she would protect his lands and title for Guy.

“However, he began to have second thoughts when he was late in his illness. When his time came, I chose to retrieve his soul and take him to the Seat of Judgment, which was my right, as his Guardian Angel.”

Val stopped here in her narrative, her gaze not seeing the graveyard around them, and not hearing the birdsong, much less the laughter going on behind them. It took her a moment to compose herself. “I still remember the stench of that room, the crying of the dying. Because of who I was, only one could see me. Sir Roger. 

“He was asleep, or so I thought, so I was rather shocked, when I leaned over to take him in my arms, that rather than come, his hand shot out and grabbed me by my crucifix.” 

Anael's hand went immediately to her own crucifix, a part of her since God, The Creator breathed life into her. Assuring herself it was there, she looked at the Angel closely. Sure enough, her crucifix was not around her neck and when she looked at Douma, she saw hers clearly. “Our sacred raiment is holy! No one may touch it!” 

“True and a normal man would have been burned by the mere contact with it, but his affliction numbed him. He grasped it and pulled me down, nose to nose with him.”

At this point, the angel did something unusual. She choked up. “He could have demanded to be healed, demanded to live forever. He didn't. Do you know what he asked? He asked that his son be a great man; that he would make the Gisborne name great, that he would be a powerful man. That most importantly, he would be a worthy man. That's what he asked. He asked for the future of his line. He asked to say goodbye to his wife and family. That is all he asked.

“I cannot grant life, but I can beg my friend, The Angel of Death, for a short-term reprieve. Douma granted that. One year. He yanked my crucifix from my throat as a promise. I allowed him to do that. 

“He rose from his bed and headed home. Still wrapped up, still ill. But he went home. Only to arrive minutes after his son had been hung by a jealous, evil bailiff. 

“I was equally heartbroken; no one wants to see an innocent, much less a child, swinging from a gibbet. Roger Gisborne was still holding my crucifix in his hand when he rode into that little hamlet to see his only son... and at that point, Douma and I decided to do something that we would both pay for for centuries and are still paying for. Young Guy of Gisborne, who was wrongly hanged, was destined to do one thing, to defy the Sheriff of Nottingham in 1197 and save the townspeople of Nottingham using knowledge that only he was privy to. He was destined to be the great man his father made me promise he would be. There was only one way to do that. To go back and redo that short period of time. We made sure Sir Roger made it home that second time, made sure Longthorn was stopped. But before he could instill any fatherly advice...”

“Robin tattled. Robin, who rarely thought ahead,” Douma continued. “Too young and too immature to see the ramifications of his actions. I can warp time. I am limited on how many times I can reloop and reloop and start over.” She was eating absent-mindedly now, not paying attention to the things she put in her mouth. “And every time I repeat, something changes, something is left out, something is left behind. Shadows. It is something we should never do.”

“Guy died several times, trying to reach his destiny. Hung again, he committed suicide in the English Channel, beheaded by his sister. He lost his heart, his humanity, his compassion over and over and over. And when he finally did find it, he died in the attempt, died before fulfilling the promise I made his father. He died as an obscure footnote in history, a myth and not a kind one and my crucifix was lost in time. 

“The further my crucifix moved from its earthly owner, the harder it was to follow. It lost its power, its connection to Guy of Gisborne. Guy's family line was lost with his death in Nottingham, his son unacknowledged and the child's mother close-lipped over who his real father was and with that loss, much of what his line was to accomplish died and was forgotten. Rather than revive him again, Douma decided to wait, as his chances had all but run out.

“Until, it found its way to Genevieve Faith Robinson. Somehow, during the Civil War, it was found on the battlefield in Atlanta by Tobias Robinson, who snatched it from the dirt and after healing from his injuries, went home to his bride and gifted it to her. It made its way down her family line and when Genevieve was born, I realized this baby girl would be the one to return this crucifix to its proper owner. Except its proper owner had died over 800 years before.” 

“You caused that wreck!” 

Douma shrugged. “It was supposed to happen. According to Valoel, Genevieve was on the brink of making an error that she personally would never financially recover from, leaving her employees scrambling for work. Bradley would not have survived the takeover and would be dead within months. Another destiny, unfulfilled. The crucifix was Guy of Gisborne's to begin with. The decision to send her back was easy to make. To get her to give it to him, which she must do, was our only worry.” 

“Which is why you allowed me to interfere.” Anael didn't know whether she should be pleased or angry.

“You kept such a close eye on his soul all those years. You saw his potential.” 

“You manipulated them. You manipulated me.”

Douma was staring into the empty bag. “We need more of these.” She shook it at Valoel. “Make it so.”

“I am an angel, not a magician,” the angel dead-panned. “There is a small supermarket in town. If you want them so bad, go get them. Don't forget to change clothes.” With a snarl, Douma snapped her fingers, her holy raiment changing into something less obvious and disappeared into the air. Val's attention returned to Anael. “She'll be awhile. English currency drives her nuts. Guy's crucifix needed to be returned to him, he needed to find his compassion, but mostly, he needed to provide for his son, make peace with his son's mother. Genevieve was on the highway to heartbreak. We didn't expect her to give him the crucifix. We were prepared to have the jewelry disappear in the accident, find its way into his possession. She would not remember it when she returned. It would never have been hers. That was the plan.” 

“That's not what happened.”

Val tipped her head. “That would be the logical explanation. We did not expect her to give it to him. To leave it with him. When she openly gave it to him, that first time, in the stable at Nottingham Castle, Genevieve changed their course.” She shook her head. “We could not part them forever.” 

“But The Almighty demanded payment for this boon. Nine lives to redeem himself. Nine lives to save others, save lives, lives he took without conscience or remorse in that one life.”

“The Almighty is all about atonement.” 

“Yes, he is. He is all about second and third and fourth and one hundred chances.” 

“But still,” Anael wasn't letting this go, “you and Douma still manipulated the situation.” 

“Are you going to whine about that?” 

“No.” 

“Didn't think so.” She hopped off her gravestone, dusting her garments off. With a snap, she changed into jeans and cardigan.“Come on,” she held her hands out to the little angel. “Put on something earthly and come with me. These two will be fine, will have many lives we can play in. But right now, I have a feeling that Douma has bitten off more than she can chew with her Cheesy Poofs.” 

And with a swift change, the two angels blinked out, leaving two very in love individuals, making love in the graveyard. 

 

**__**

~~~...~~~

_**and I love the ground where on he stands** _

**  
__  
**

~~~...~~~

[](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/ZeeDippyVessel/media/tumblr_mqh1myRkfh1sn718mo6_1280_zps8dee44b4.jpg.html)  


_Il y avait-ils conscients d'un yeoman de Wight,_  
 _Son corps se pencha à un arbre._  
 _Une épée et un poignard qu'il portait à ses côtés,_  
 _Avait beaucoup de fléau d'un homme fait,_

There were they aware of a wight yeoman,  
His body leaned to a tree.  
A sword and a dagger he wore by his side,  
Had been many a man's bane,

**_From Frank Sidgwick's poem: Robin Hood And Guy Of Gisborne_ **

_**Begin: 03/04/2013** _

_**Fini 12/9/2014** _


End file.
